


Troublemaker

by Lirendil



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ...or at least Talon hopes so, Enemies to... something, F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Talon Lena "Tracer" Oxton, and exploring just what's motivating our heroes, lots of duo action, or villains as it were, these will be occasional and noted before their chapters, ~30 chapters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2020-02-27 02:19:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 56,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18729736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lirendil/pseuds/Lirendil
Summary: Isolated as an outlaw in the wake of the second fall of Overwatch, Lena finds herself facing a decision she won’t be able to take back. Along comes Widowmaker offering a similarly extreme alternative. But if Lena agrees, Widowmaker might find herself with a whole lot more trouble than she bargained for.





	1. Me voici

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first Widowtracer piece I ever started writing way back when I first got into the ship. It’s not a new premise, but I used it to explore how I wanted to interpret these characters after reading similar fics that I couldn't quite identify with. It doesn’t always take itself too seriously, but there are no gratuitous scenes or abusive undertones here. This is close to finished so expect relatively regular updates. FYI translations of foreign words/phrases will be in the end notes.
> 
> TW: There is a suicide attempt in the first chapter and ideation in the chapter following. Things get better from here and most of the fic is brighter, but it starts in a dark place (as I did when I started writing it tbh) and I want that to be clear. The story is catalysed from this two-chapter introduction so I’ll have a summary at the beginning of chapter three for anyone who wants to skip the first two. There will be references sporadically but anything major will be tagged. If this kind of thing hits home, know that even in the darkest place, you're not alone and still have options. Ones that probably don't involve blue terrorist snipers -- for better or for worse.

 

The staircase was grey. Narrow. Cold. Lena felt like she had been walking up it for years. Without her blinks, she finally remembered how normal people found this sort of journey: terribly dull. But she supposed the regular passage of time was something she should savour while she still could.

_Clock’s ticking._

It really was fitting, she thought, that as the face of Overwatch’s second birth, she would be the first to go.

_‘Your organisation is blacklisted. You have operated as vigilantes at best and terrorists at worst and the world simply cannot afford this anymore. Overwatch is ended. Your facilities will be seized, your equipment confiscated, and anyone continuing to pursue its mission arrested. Is that clear?’_

She had nodded. And somewhat ignored the words for a while, actually -- even if perhaps they weren’t needed as much anymore, how could she abandon Overwatch’s tenets again? She had thought she'd fully accounted for all of the consequences.

She hadn't.

Lena climbed up the final flight of stairs and pushed open a door to the rooftop. The night air was crisp and the breeze firm this high up, blowing through her hair. It invigorated a tiny bit of life in her even as she felt herself begin to shake.

_‘Lena… we need to talk.’_

She hadn't expected the words that would come next. No -- that was a lie. She had felt the truth in the pit of her gut well before anything had left Angela's lips. But hearing them spoken had sent her reeling regardless.

_‘We can't fix it.’_

Lena had looked down at her chronal accelerator in dumb shock. Its light still shone, but there was a flicker. It hadn't been the first time something had gone wrong.

But it would be the last.

_‘What about other research labs? Surely they'd be interested in salvaging the technology.’ But Winston didn't sound sure at all._

_‘That's what I'm afraid of. They'll care about the technology, not her. She'll be little more than a lab rat -- an inmate, even, as I doubt any legitimate organisation wouldn't have her arrested on sight. As a doctor, I've seen it far too many times.’_

Lena’s mind had been thrown back to the first experiments with the chronal accelerator. Everyone involved had done their best to save her because they'd cared about her, but even then she'd lost track of how many times she'd vanished into the bone-chilling cold of empty time, caught in a limbo she couldn't escape. The terror had made her want to scream but she couldn't even do that. How often would she be thrown back there while scientists prodded at her device? Why would they even fix it for her alone when they could dismantle it for their own purposes? The wars were over at this point and Tracer was neither needed nor wanted by the world anymore. No one's priority would be saving her. Even her mere existence put all who knew her at risk.

_‘Then the decision is up to her.’_

Lena looked up at the sky and tried to imagine the tapestry of stars and galaxies that glimmered behind the city glow. She'd grown up in what was little more than a London slum and been stuck there until the military and then when Overwatch had taken her in. She hadn't known what the night sky could look like until a training flight had taken them far from civilisation and she'd discovered the sparkles, the colours that had seemed impossible to her eyes. She hadn't been able to wait to get her hands on a plane again after that, if just to get the tiniest bit closer to what lay beyond.

Until she had drifted a little too far.

She still had nightmares about the Slipstream accident. They had become fewer over the years, but recently they had come back with a vengeance. Long ago, she had wondered if she could possibly go on living with the constant flashbacks of fear, cold, _nothingness_ that had claimed her once and seemed to refuse to relinquish their hold even in sleep. Now, those nightmares were about to become reality again. And she felt like she knew her answer.

Lena felt fear crushing her chest as she stood at the edge of the rooftop, breathing harshly. Fear at what would happen if she went through with this. Terror at what would happen if she didn't. She squeezed her eyes shut, blotting out the city lights into mere afterimages. It was what she would become if she did nothing. Non-existent and yet an inerasable blur. She could count on one hand the number of times she had faded after the chronal accelerator had been finalised, just barely coming back, and every single one of those instances had been one too many. Moving past them had been difficult. Living them indefinitely? Well, that wasn't really living anymore was it?

She reopened her eyes. She could do this. It was a long-deserted part of the city where no one would find her. Not when soon enough, time would take her body and make it disappear forever. At least, that's what she assumed would happen. She hadn't asked Winston or Angela as they would have just grown concerned and she couldn't risk them stopping her from this. Although, she had wondered what the Dr Ziegler in Angela would have said -- this was a terminal illness that would end in something worse than death and they all knew that. Maybe she would have had a cleaner solution than this. But Lena hadn't wanted to do that to her friends, to see them there as she… Lena shook herself from the thought. Either way, it was too late.

The lights blurred and she reached up to hastily wipe tears away, as if getting them before they fell could help her pretend they hadn't been there at all. She didn't want to do this. Not entirely. She was a fighter -- a survivor -- always had been, and there was a fundamental part of her screaming against this. But even that couldn't overcome the agitated fear, the conviction that this was her best option. Her _only_ option. She rationalised that she had lived as fully, given as much of herself as she possibly could, and now it was time to turn a page. She wasn't necessary anymore, and so she didn't need to feel all that guilty for doing one last thing for herself. It was painful… but it was all she had left.

Lena tried to convince herself that the fall wouldn't be so bad. She'd skydived and taken parachute jumps, then simply jumped off buildings once she’d had her new abilities, daredevil that she was. She would still have those abilities if she fell right now, unless she left her harness here. Then she'd only have a few seconds to back out if she changed her mind. Maybe that was for the best; the time for second guessing was over. There was only one way to go from here. She dropped her chronal accelerator on the ground and kicked it away, turning back to the ledge with a newfound lightness and freedom.

Lena closed her eyes again, thought about the first time she'd been on a parachute drill in training. Her stomach had been twisted in knots, getting ever worse when the cargo bay doors opened. She was third in line to go, anxiously gripping the parachute tab as if to convince herself it wouldn't disappear once she was sailing through the atmosphere. Then it was her turn. She hadn't been ready to jump, hadn't come to terms with the giant fear that she might not, in fact, live through this, but she was impulsive enough that after a ‘what the hell’ muttered under her breath, she took the plunge.

And then it was euphoria.

The sky around was beautiful, the earth breathtaking far below. After the spike of adrenaline from the initial acceleration, she reached terminal speed and then it was as though she were floating. She actually laughed -- as well as she could with wind slamming into her face. That moment had solidified her love for piloting. She wanted to be in the air forever. Lena smiled a bit at the memory.

And stepped off the ledge.

The rush of air grew ever faster as she fell. She kept her eyes closed and tried to pretend the smoggy London night was that clear Gibraltar day when she'd first discovered her love for this feeling. It wouldn't last; she knew she must already be getting close to the ground. She just had to hold onto this sensation, think of the plane, think of the bright blue sky until--

The parachute opened.

Lena felt yanked to one side as something was thrown around her waist. She opened her eyes and realised she was now going sideways, spinning in a circle and then… going up? She abruptly landed on concrete with the breath completely knocked out of her. It took her a moment to adjust to being stationary and then she looked around. She was back on the roof. She blinked her eyes several times to make sure she wasn't dreaming. The chronal accelerator was sitting right where she'd left it. Had it done something? Had it somehow tried to save her with some strange built-in mechanism?

“ _What_ do you think you are doing?”

The disdainful tone was unmistakable. As was the French accent. Lena whipped her head around to find the slender violet figure of Widowmaker towering above her.

“What… in bloody hell…?” Lena wheezed between breaths. Her already high-pitched voice rose even higher with confusion. “God, did I die halfway through and go straight to the Queen of the Underworld herself?” It seemed more likely than Widowmaker of all people somehow magically being here and… saving her life?

Widowmaker sighed. “And here I was, thinking _I_ was the most ungrateful person on the planet.”

A ‘thank you’ hadn't even crossed Lena's mind. She wasn't sure if she was glad to still be alive at all, or if Widowmaker had some other motive. “Why--”

“I'm supposed to be the one killing you, remember?” Widowmaker crossed her arms with an unexpected look of disapproval.

“You never tried hard enough so I guess I have to do it for you, love.” Lena’s words rang sardonic in the space between them. “How did you even know I was here?”

“I have known where you've been almost every day for the past two weeks or so,” Widowmaker casually informed her, as though it weren't the most worrying explanation ever.

“That's… rather creepy, actually.” An assassin keeping tabs on her day after day was a slightly terrifying thought. An assassin who had just yanked her away from death as opposed to the other way around made it a little odd, though.

“Your habits changed a few days ago,” Widowmaker went on, apparently not fazed by Lena's discomfort. “You put quite a sum of cash in a locker, called everyone close to you but for no more than a few minutes each, and, most concerningly, cleaned out that trash pile you call a room for the first time in, well, forever, je dirais. You don't strike me as the type who would abandon their prized possessions unless you were planning on abandoning far more than that.”

Lena's heart was pounding, shocked at how accurate this all was. Of course, she had been actively planning all along, but hearing it spelled out like this by someone else was rather jarring. “But… why did you stop me?”

Widowmaker tilted her head in thought. “Curious, I suppose. I had nothing better to do. And this city has been impossibly boring lately.”

It wasn't exactly an empathetic explanation but Lena still found herself surprised that a stone-cold sniper would look at the imminent death of the biggest thorn in her side with not satisfaction but… something else. Whatever that was.

“What were you doing watching me in the first place?”

“Orders. Overwatch is disbanded, people wanted to know what you and your friends were turning to and I was in the area. A simple reconnaissance mission. Until now.” Widowmaker narrowed her eyes. “Does this have to do with Overwatch?”

“Sort of… not directly.” Lena wrapped her arms around her knees, cold fear sinking into her again. “I'm going to disappear.” Widowmaker was silent, likely waiting for more explanation -- which Lena provided, for whatever reason. “My chronal accelerator, this device that keeps me on this timeline instead of floating in and out, it's broken. And no one can fix it anymore.”

“Hm. Overwatch has abandoned you.”

“They just can't do anything more to help.”

Widowmaker shrugged. “Same difference.”

Lena frowned. “Contrary to the likes of you people, we all actually cared about each other.”

“Affection is not going to save you, chérie. Maybe…” an eyebrow raised as though a thought just came to her, “it's time for you to be a little more practical. You know there is only one organisation left with both the skill and the funds to keep you alive.”

Lena’s eyes widened as she realised what Widowmaker was saying. “Are you mad? Talon was more than happy to see Overwatch fail -- they're half the reason I'm in this mess in the first place!”

“And yet they can still offer you something you want. Something you need.” Lena looked away, not sure how to counter that but not wanting to admit it either. “The past is said and done. The world has turned its back on you because it sees you as a criminal. Talon is the only place that will not care. Where you can be free again, instead of a permanent stain on the street.” Widowmaker walked past her.

Lena looked back at the ledge where she'd fallen. She didn’t believe for a second she'd be free… but at the moment, despite the resolve she’d thought she’d had earlier… at least entertaining the idea seemed better than this. It was letting her stall a bit longer if nothing else.

“Get up.” Widowmaker dropped the chronal accelerator in front of her.

Not knowing what else to do, Lena complied silently, donning her harness once more. She didn't really know what to say at this point. She was both embarrassed to be stopped from doing something like this and utterly baffled as to why.

“Allez.”

Lena suddenly felt herself swept up against Widowmaker as she wrapped her hook around the chimney and rappelled down the side of the building, a controlled fall this time. Lena looked around at the drab view as they went down. Wouldn’t have been a very glamourous end. Widowmaker set her down once they reached the bottom.

“Go home. Think about it. I will find you again soon enough.”

It both did and didn't feel like a threat.

It took a moment for Lena to start walking home once Widowmaker grappled away. Going back seemed so strange considering she hadn’t expected to last to this point. It would be a long journey, with much to contemplate, and she was left to her thoughts alone.

But even as she finally reached the door to her flat, she couldn't help but wonder if Widowmaker was somewhere still watching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Me voici"/"Here I am" - (Méphistophélès' - the devil's servant - opening in Gounod's Faust)  
> je dirais/I'd say  
> Allez/Let's go


	2. Turncoat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAUST  
> Et que te donnerai-je en retour?
> 
> MÉPHISTOPHÉLÈS  
> Presque rien!  
> Ici, je suis à ton service,  
> Mais là-bas, tu seras au mien!

Lena awoke to a room she almost didn't recognise. Sitting up, she blearily looked around at the empty chairs and desk, clear floor, and closed closet. In her near panic yesterday, she had swept almost everything up into bags and thrown them out. She figured she wouldn't be needing any of it anymore, instead choosing to leave everything tidy and easy to work with if she wasn't coming back and someone else would be tasked with packing away her personal effects. She felt like she owed that much.

Yet here she was again.

But for how long?

Winston had said he couldn't be sure, but he expected her to last a month. Could be more. Could also be less. Her mind was making up the worst of scenarios. Perhaps she needed a more immediate exit plan if she started to fade and a fall wouldn't be feasible anymore. Anxiety began to grip her and she dropped her head in her hands, trying to calm down. “Come on, Lena. You're still okay right now. You're still okay.”

In Overwatch, some covert agents had carried around suicide pills in case they were captured so they wouldn't be forced into something they didn't want to do. Lena had not been fond of the idea. Her will to live was far too strong and willing to ride out almost anything if just for the hope that one day she could in fact save herself. Perhaps it was a foolish way of looking at it, a rather self-centred way depending on the situation. But it had been her point of view… just not for this, initially.

Her mind flashed back to Widowmaker’s eyes piercing through the night. That jump had been her suicide pill. But Widowmaker was offering an escape route, a chance to live another day by doing something extremely foolish and self-centred. Was it right? Certainly not. But was it worth it?

Lena rubbed at her eyes and finally got out of bed. She needed to get out of the flat and find some fresh air to think. She pulled on clothes and her chronal accelerator, ever so slightly flickering, and headed out of her room. Halfway to the main door, her eyes fell upon the note she had left the night before. Her stomach turned a little as she opened it.

_To all of my friends:_

_If you've found this, I've probably made a final decision that I know will be difficult to process. I am so sorry to do this to you all, I truly am, but it's the only path I have left._

_Please understand that this choice was mine to make and no one else is allowed to feel responsible for that. You all are so valuable and wonderful and brought me into the most loving family I could ever have asked for. I wouldn't change the years we had for the world. I wish you the best. I will miss you so, so much._

_All my love,_

_Lena_

\---

The air was brisk against Lena’s cheeks as she strode around the city. It was a cool summer, remarkably so this year, but she couldn't complain. That was London for you. Tourists wrapped in light scarves wandered about taking photos of the historic buildings -- at least the ones that were left after the omnic crises. After staying cooped up in anxiety for weeks now, being in the midst of life and activity was indeed clearing her head a little. She hadn’t realised how dark her mind had become in solitude -- last night she had thought she had been taking the best course of action. Now, the idea of repeating that decision was a bit less appealing.

She pulled her knit hat farther down over her ears as she crossed London Bridge, wind whipping around her. Without it, her hair would be a mess, and likely dangerously recognisable at this point. She had even forsaken her usual leather jacket for a looser coat that could hide her chronal accelerator. For months now, she had been too scared to go out without what felt like excessive clothing; the life of a famous outlaw wasn’t particularly easy in one’s own city. She could never bring herself to leave, though. With everyone else gone, there was nothing left to call home besides home itself.

A set of stairs descended off the right side of the foot of the bridge, leading to a bustling market. It, too, had suffered from the wars, but Londoners had ensured its return as Lena had been growing up. Each year she felt ever gladder for it. She walked by a few stands with granolas, honeys, oysters, sausages -- all sorts of consumables from all around Europe. It was always nice to see that there were little pockets of the world still vibrant and connected and so she decided to afford herself this.

She stopped at a stall to buy herself a meat pie then sat on a small grassy area to eat. She sighed in satisfaction as she already felt it warming her from the inside out. Lately, she had been feeling a little colder than usual, and it was hard to tell whether it was from the accelerator actually failing or just the anxiety that it would. The thought of losing herself to time forever had always been in the back of her mind, but she had never expected anything like this to happen so soon. Slipping away once again with no one there to even try to save her would be unbearable.

But dying wasn’t much better was it?

_Think about it._

Lena couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it -- sacrificing her convictions for a chance to stay alive and on this plane of existence. She wondered what her friends would think if they knew about this -- but she already knew the responses wouldn’t be positive. Of course they wouldn’t outright say they would rather she died than did that, but she would certainly lose them anyway. They would find it anathema to support her with a decision so extreme, a sentiment Lena had expected herself to share just as strongly.

But she was hesitating. She was desperately rationalising to herself that ultimately, she may still have a choice even after joining Talon: a refusal to kill here, getting around a situation there. Once on the inside, perhaps she could even deal some damage to them -- not that anything would really matter at this point without backup. At the worst they would kill her, but then wasn’t that already her alternative anyway?

Another thought occurred to her, one that unexpectedly made her even more anxious. The only proof Lena had that Talon would take her at all was from a couple of words from Widowmaker. What if they had been too hasty? Or outright lies? Although Lena couldn’t quite figure out what Widowmaker would gain from something like that besides the ability to watch her disappear into time. They may have been enemies, but even that seemed a bit far especially considering that Widowmaker could have saved herself plenty of trouble by simply letting her die. She supposed she would find out eventually, if Widowmaker did in fact come back.

Lena rose, brushing herself off and heading out of the market. She turned onto an alley she knew would lead directly to the edge of the Thames; the riverbank always felt like a good place to think.

The loud clearing of a throat behind her made her freeze. She swivelled round and felt her pulse pick up when she found a tall figure wrapped in a black overcoat, yellow eyes looking down on her.

“Walk with me.”

Widowmaker set off in the opposite direction. Lena followed.

“You really meant it when you said soon. Afraid I was going to pull something rash again?” Obviously, the idea had crossed her own mind; time was not on her side anymore. Widowmaker sidestepped the question, however.

“It wasn't difficult to get a Talon agent here. Not when I told them who the interested party was.”

Lena froze mid-step. “Are they going to take me?”

“Tsk, so dramatic. If we had wanted to force you into anything we could have done that long ago. Today is just to talk.”

Lena bit her lip, then started walking again. “Alright.” She still wasn't sure this wasn't some trap, but what did she have to lose?

“You are far more valuable walking into this willingly than otherwise. You have a bit of leverage. The person I spoke to sounded like he had just won the loterie when I said your name.”

“Nice to know I have fans… I guess.” Lena furrowed her brow. “Why are you doing this? Really? Of all people I expected you to be the first to be thrilled I want to off myself.”

Widowmaker sighed harshly. “As irritating as you are, it would be a pathetic waste of talent. Taking what you have and throwing it all away.”

“Oi, I wasn't exactly thrilled about my options either but they were all I had,” Lena shot back at what felt like a condescending tone.

“Not anymore.”

But Lena couldn't stay offended. The clear disapproval, if nothing else, revealed that somehow Widowmaker had found saving Lena worth it, if perhaps for no other reason than that she was useful.

“Listen, ah… what should I really expect out of all this? Am I still going to be, well, me?”

Widowmaker shot her a look that wasn't quite decipherable. This was probably going to become a trend. Lena guessed her history was a touchy subject, but soon enough Widow shrugged as though she hadn’t been bothered at all. “Probably. But you can ask them yourself.” They stopped at a nondescript storefront with a plain, windowed door. Widowmaker opened it and gestured. “Après toi.”

Lena walked into what appeared to be an antiques shop, filled with old furniture, jewellery, and other odds and ends. The first display by the entrance had a row of clocks ticking at her. _Thanks for that._

“Hello, Tracer,” a low voice came from behind a shelf. A man with cropped black hair walked over and reached out to shake her hand.

Lena took it hesitantly, not quite trusting his cool smile. “And you are?”

“Just an agent sent here to get to know you. We've been made aware of your situation and would like to be of assistance, but let's get the elephant in the room out of the way first.”

“The fact that I'm former Overwatch asking to work for Talon.”

The agent seemed surprised by her candour. “Well, yes. Even after the accident, you stood by everything Overwatch did. How do you expect us to believe you're serious about this?”

“I know it might be hard to grasp, but I tend to enjoy being alive over most of the alternatives,” Lena quipped.

“And that survival instinct is selfish enough to forsake the values of Overwatch entirely and join its worst enemy?”

 _Selfish_. Lena supposed devoting her life so fiercely to others had occasionally resulted in fierce self-preservation -- if she had nothing to sacrifice herself for, she needed to stay alive to keep helping. This was far beyond that… but her convictions weren’t saving her anymore. She was powerless but also freed of responsibility. All she had left to take care of was herself.

“Overwatch is dead,” Lena said flatly. And a part of her, that hopeful part of her that had thought it was too noble to fail, had died with it.

“So they say. But what do you think you have to offer us? Have you ever even killed anyone?”

Lena had to roll her eyes at that. She certainly had never been proud of any loss of life by her hand, but she was a soldier twice over. This man wasn't taking her seriously? “I've been around the block enough to know that if I unloaded a clip into the back of your head you wouldn't live long enough to see the last bullet.”

The agent narrowed his eyes a little.

“Ooh, cheeky,” Widowmaker purred from her perch on the windowsill.

The agent decided to ignore the comment. “How long since you first joined Overwatch?”

“Ten years. Well, from everyone else's point of view.” The agent looked at her quizzically. “Slipstream accident. According to official reports I'd disappeared for months, but to me it was… a lot more complicated than that.”

“And that's why you now have your device.”

“Without it I just fade. Vanish for hours, days, weeks. I’m never really here.”

“What is its radius of effect?”

“Fifteen metres.”

“Does it require downtime when you’re using it?”

Lena winced. “After the first power cell gets used up, I need to wait forty-three seconds.”

The agent's eyebrows went up. “That is quite some time.”

Widowmaker scoffed. “Do you realise how many headshots I could pull in forty-three seconds?”

Lena grimaced. “I really try not to think about it.” Anyone could destroy her with that kind of information, but at this point, she was dying anyway.

“When was this last upgraded?”

“Ah… a few years ago I think. Right before Overwatch disbanded the first time.”

“Looks heavy, too.”

“Little bit.”

The agent thought for a moment. “We have the technology to rebuild this, given that we examine the schematics of yours so we don't fix what's not broken. And I guarantee you, we will rebuild it better.” He smiled. “It seems you may well have a future with us, Tracer.”

Lena nodded, steeling herself. “What are you going to expect of me in return?”

“Loyalty. Following orders. Many of the things Overwatch expected of you.”

“I have boundaries.” The agent furrowed his brow but Lena charged on. “I won't kill the young or the helpless. I won't kill anyone unless I have to. I'm not an assassin -- never have been. I'm a problem solver.”

The agent actually seemed to like that. “A problem solver. That will do.”

Lena tensed a bit as she reached her next concern. “Do you have any… procedures you'll make me go through?”

“We have basic training in the beginning to evaluate your skills, which I’m sure won’t be a challenge for you.” Then he appeared to have a realisation. “You mean neural reconditioning.”

Lena nodded. Tasteful term for such an ugly concept.

“No, most of those programs shut down a few years ago. Too much risk, not enough reward. Either way, it wouldn’t be necessary for you. You’ve come here of your own volition after all. And let’s be brutally honest, Tracer: once we hand you your new device, you’re going to need us. As long as you value your life, you’ll value us.”

Lena swallowed. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“If you like, we could get to work seeing what we can do right now.”

“Right now? Here?” Lena looked around at the antiques in confusion.

The agent beckoned. “Come with me.” He began walking to a door in the back. Lena hesitated.

“You still think we're going to stab you in the back? After all of this?” Widowmaker almost looked disappointed. Then again, she usually did.

Lena relented, setting off to the back as well, Widowmaker following. They were led down a dark, musty staircase that seemed like it went on forever. Lena couldn't imagine how anything of worth could be down here; this place looked and smelled like it was a relic of the nineteenth century. Finally, they stopped at a door. The agent flipped open a small keypad on the side which also revealed a retinal scanner. Within seconds, the door slid open into almost blinding light.

Lena had to shield her eyes for a moment as she adjusted to the all-white, clinical-looking room bathed in artificial lighting. There were a couple of scientists sitting at a computer panel who looked up at the newcomers. One stood up and smiled.

“You must be Tracer. I’m Dr Sadeghi -- but you can just call me David. Pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand.

Lena took it a bit uncertainly. “Er, yeah, likewise.”

David looked down at Lena’s chest. “I take it this is the device we'll be replacing?”

“Replacing? You mean you can't just fix it?”

“If it is truly failing, it might need a new core entirely. Judging by the diagnostics, that seems like it'll be the best option to ensure this doesn't happen again.”

“What diagnostics? You haven't even looked at it yet.”

David looked past Lena's shoulder and she followed his gaze.

“I had a friend acquire the latest file on your device,” Widowmaker explained. “Winston no longer has access to Overwatch’s secure network so his results were easy to find.”

“It means we have the best information to start working right away,” David continued. “I brought in all the tools we need this morning.”

“You all really are eager to get this done, aren't you?” Everyone hovering around her felt a bit like vultures.

“You're quite the unprecedented recruit,” the agent spoke again from the side. “Can't have you disappearing on us now.”

“We can get the process going if you're ready. I imagine living in constant fear that this device is going to fail isn't ideal.” David smiled sympathetically. He seemed strangely genuine for someone working for Talon.

“It's really not,” Lena admitted. She took a breath, biting the bullet. “Alright. Where do we start?”

\---

The next ten days were little but a blur of going between her apartment and the small Talon outpost where the team of scientists worked on her chronal accelerator. From sunup to well past sundown they drew schematics and performed tests, Lena occasionally dipping out for a meal or knocking out on a table for a nap. Lena could feel her time running short, the glow on her current piece flickering a little more every day. She hated to say it, but she was glad Talon was more than happy to rush the process just because of who she was.

Widowmaker left periodically but was usually waiting silently in a corner. Lena wondered whether it was for her to feel more comfortable or more intimidated. In a way, it was having both effects.

Widowmaker sat in a chair near the door today, looking down at the tablet she had brought to keep herself busy. There were a number of missions lining up soon and she thought she might as well do her research while watching over Tracer, as uneventful as that was. It was for both their benefit. Widowmaker had never had enough time to observe her during her Overwatch days outside of their skirmishes, so it seemed prudent to watch more closely now.

In all honesty, Widowmaker had been surprised she'd agreed to consider joining Talon in the first place -- it had seemed more likely that the girl would choose some abstract ideal of honour than the practical but morally dubious choice. It wasn’t that Widowmaker suspected she was going into this with outright duplicity -- Tracer hardly seemed capable of the whitest lie -- but perhaps she was rationalising that it was at least buying her more time to think. She certainly wasn't sold on Talon’s mission and perhaps never would be, but that was of little concern, really. So far, it seemed she valued her life more than her attachment to Overwatch, which Widowmaker saw as both very interesting and very convenient.

A tone buzzed in her ear. Widowmaker rose and left the room, leaving the door the slightest bit open. She pressed the button on the comm device in her ear. “Widowmaker here.”

“Widowmaker, this is Orona.”

“Ah, back from your trip?” Orona hadn't been due to return from Poland for a couple of days, but the European director of Talon tended to get bored easily on vacations. Widowmaker couldn't even imagine her without her tight silver bun and neatly pressed white suits.

“You know me. Better things to do than sit around in the mountains. In any event, I hear you have a former Overwatch agent in custody? I thought my instructions to observe but not engage were clear.”

“Custody is not quite the word I would use. We're recruiting her.”

“Recruiting? Who?”

“Tracer.”

If Orona had been the type to laugh in incredulity, it certainly would have happened then. “You're telling me you're trying to hire Overwatch’s most high-profile former agent? And you trust this?”

“She is dying. Worse than that, even. Overwatch is no longer around to save her and we are the closest to them in technology.”

“I'd have expected any Overwatch agent to rather die than join us.”

Widowmaker flashed back to their meeting on the roof. “One would think.” She wasn't convinced Tracer wasn't still mulling over the alternative, but only time would tell what she chose. “We are at the lab now. The scientists should be finished in a couple of days.”

“Just keep an eye on her. If she doesn't bail on us, then… she would be quite useful.”

“Agreed.”

“We’ll speak again soon.” Orona cut the line.

Widowmaker walked back inside the room to find Tracer looking up at her suspiciously. The conversation had certainly been too quiet for Tracer to hear any part of it, but she likely suspected that it had been one about her.

Lena held Widowmaker’s gaze for some time but the woman revealed nothing in her eyes. What Lena would give to hear what she had been talking about. Every day, Lena had little to do but wonder what exactly Widowmaker was thinking of this entire situation. Why hadn't she changed her mind? What did she think recruiting Lena would accomplish for her own goals? It made Lena nervous that she might have agreed to even more than met the eye.

Every moment around Widowmaker felt uncertain and even dangerous, yet here Lena was, following her into the fire. Although her fight or flight instinct was under control, Lena didn't like the fact that she had no idea what was going on in her head despite having seen her every day for almost two weeks now. For years, a run-in with Widowmaker had always felt like an impending death sentence. It never had been, though, Lena had to admit. None of Widowmaker’s targets ever made it out alive, but here Lena was, far more alive than she should be at this point. Her mind flew back to the rooftop. The fear when she'd been alone. The despair that had driven her to…

“It's ready.” David’s voice broke through the darkening thoughts. “Well, almost. We need a couple more days to test it thoroughly, but it is functional. Try it.”

Lena hesitantly stood up and reached for the extended harness, pulling it on as she glanced towards her old one lying on the table with its comforting blue light. At last, she looked down at the red-orange glow of her new chronal accelerator. It was lighter and more slender. These people always had been at the forefront of technology, for better or for worse.

“Is there a way to temporarily deactivate your old device?” Lena tensed, frozen by the sudden panic the idea brought. David seemed to pick up on it. “I wouldn't be asking this if I didn't know for a fact it works, but best for you to get used to it now while we still have your old one on hand.”

A lump was stuck in Lena’s throat but she tried to swallow it. He was right. This was the moment of truth.

“If something goes wrong, how long does it take for your device to lock onto you again?” That was Widowmaker speaking from her chair.

“Almost immediately,” Lena replied easily.

“Hm.”

Lena paused a moment. That was a good point and thinking about it actually eased her nerves. Not that Widowmaker's expression had changed the slightest bit. It hadn't all week.

“Alright,” Lena sighed. “There's a set of buttons on the inside of the chronal accelerator. The combination to turn it off is left, left, right, middle, left.” She held her breath as the keys were pressed and the blue shine faded. Seconds passed.

Nothing happened.

“Normally if your device stops working do you experience chronal dissociation immediately?”

Lena nodded slowly as reality sank in. “Christ.” A relieved laugh slipped out. “It works. It bloody works.” She looked back down at her chest, emotion pricking at her eyes.

David was smiling. “A job well done. We will have to keep the new one for the last rounds of verification, but in two days, you'll be one of us.”

Lena blinked, feeling her smile weaken at the words. _One of us._ That was the reality she was choosing by this. She couldn't ignore that, could she? She hoped the discomfort building once more wasn't too obvious as she removed the harness and went to pick up her old one, turning it back on as she donned it.

“We'll see you then,” David assured.

Lena saw herself out through the dusty store and into the dark, chilly night just as she had the past two weeks. But before she had taken five steps down the street, she heard someone follow behind her.

“I will see you in two days, then?”

It was Widowmaker. Lena slowly turned to face her. “That's what David said.”

“But it is not what I asked.” Her sharp tone left no room for pretending Lena didn't know what she was saying. “You know this won't be the perfect solution, don't you?”  
  
“Of course I know. I'm not that thick.” Lena paused. “You sound like you're trying to change my mind. Having second thoughts?”  
  
“No, but you are. And you'd better have them sooner rather than later. Never say I did not warn you… but also never say I did not give you a chance.”

It was apparently all Widowmaker had left to say, her dark figure whirling around to walk away down the street.

The rest was up to Lena.

\---

This was the night.

Lena forced herself to finish the bit of take away left in the container before her. The biryani was her favourite from the shop she visited downstairs every week, and she'd decided to afford herself a good meal given the circumstances. But those circumstances had also made her terribly nervous the entire day.

Her mobile a few inches away began to vibrate -- Angela, she saw as she looked down. She winced. She'd almost entirely avoided contact save for a few texts saying she was busy so that no one came breaking down her door yet. She knew Angela would still be worried and more than anything Lena wanted to reassure her, but how could she? Nothing was going to be okay.

Yet she still craved that one last bit of contact.

She picked up the call.

“Hi, Angela.”

“Lena! Oh, I thought you'd never answer, I've been so worried. How are you?”

“I'm doin’ alright, how about you, love?”

There was a pause. “You know you don't have to lie to me, Lena.”

 _Yes I do._ But she decided to admit a little. “I guess things could be better.”

“You know, I could fly over there by tomorrow, drop in for a visit. Winston will be in town too.” Angela was clearly making an optimistic effort for her.

“No, it's fine. I appreciate it, but I need to figure things out on my own.”

Angela sighed. “Alright. But you know if you need to talk about absolutely anything, I'm always just a phone call away.”

“I know, love, you always are.” Lena tried not to choke on her words at the caring tone. Angela had been the most supportive of her through everything, right from the beginning, and Lena didn't want to hurt her like this. Of course Winston had been as well, but the caregiver in Angela was irrepressible when it came to her. Lena looked down at the clock on her phone and felt her heart beat a little faster. “It's getting late, I'm going to have to go.” Even getting those words out, forcing herself away from the people and life she had known, was agonising.

“Just promise me you won't do anything rash, alright?”

“I promise.” It didn't sound as convincing as it should have. Lena was terrible at this. “I'll be fine,” she tried again. “It's up to me now. You and Winston have been there for me through it all and I know you've done everything you can.”

“We still are.” But it sounded like even Angela knew it didn't mean much. “Take care of yourself, Lena.”

“Always. You too. Love ya.”

Lena hung up, closing her eyes with a sigh.

It was almost ten o’clock now, and the new chronal accelerator would surely be ready. It was time for her to make her decision. She'd hoped the last several days would have made the choice clearer, but it was foggier than ever.

Lena had always seen Talon as a ruthless organisation that would do anything it wanted regardless of consequences. To an extent, she was still sure most of that was true. But where she had expected recruiting techniques to consist entirely of strapping people into a chair and torturing them, here she had simply been vetted and given time to think. She supposed it wasn't very efficient for a giant organisation to run on forced labour alone. Amélie must have been the exception, for reasons she realised she didn't actually know.

And like the agent had said, it wasn't as if they needed to convince her to stay loyal. They were the only ones left who could keep that chronal accelerator running. It was always going to be either Talon or death, a choice she could still make at any time if it turned out to not be worth it, she figured, somewhat morbidly. But at least she would be able to make that choice on her own instead of feeling like she urgently needed an appointment with the concrete before she faded away. This, at the very least, was buying her time. There weren't really any downsides yet.

 _Yet_.

Lena buried her face in her hands. What was she doing? She knew the kinds of things Talon had done. She knew what they stood for.

_She knew what Overwatch had done too._

But she hadn't been complicit in it, she argued with herself. She wasn't going to pretend she'd been a beacon of purity her whole life, her wild teenage years were enough evidence of that. But this… this was something else. She wouldn't be the same person after this decision -- _Lena_ , that quintessentially pure part of herself she had always clung to, would never make it… although whether she was still the person she’d been before Overwatch had fallen again was already doubtful. But what if Talon made her do something she couldn't live with? Then she would be right back where she started, except with far more guilt, so much farther away from the person so many had looked up to. At least right now she could die with some sort of nobility.

Maybe that's what really mattered.

Lena sighed and pulled on her harness. She reached into her jacket pocket for the key to her flat and left it in a perfectly obvious spot on the counter. She left her mobile and her final note just under it. She looked around at what was left in the room: a couple of pictures on the wall, a handful of figurines on the windowsill she'd had made of the team as a joke.

She would miss this.

“Alright, then.” Lena inhaled shakily. “Ready for one last run?” She wasn't sure if she was talking to her accelerator or to herself.

She'd figure it out soon enough.

\---

Lena walked up those same steps she had two weeks prior, and just as deliberately. No rush, no need to do anything but savour the moment.

Because now, there was no going back.

The climb seemed shorter this time, and before she knew it, she was walking through the night air heading towards the city glow. She stopped at the edge of the rooftop, the wind whipping her hair around her face, staring at the street below just like she had before.

Except this time, her mind would not be changed.

She slowly unhooked her harness and let the chronal accelerator fall into her hand. She raised it, outstretched it, stared at the blue glowing in her face. For so long, this thing had saved the life she'd thought she'd lost forever. She hadn't willingly spent a single moment more than an arm's length away from it ever since.

But now those days had ended.

“We had good times, didn't we? I'm -- I'm sorry.” She had to stop short as her voice caught. It was an apology to everyone that they would never hear.

_It's time._

Lena took a deep breath. Her hand clenched. And then it opened.

The chronal accelerator plummeted down, down, down, seeming to take an impossible amount of time before it hit the ground with a crack that echoed all the way back up to her ears. A piece of her felt like it was shattering with it.

_Oh, Lena. I'm sorry I couldn't save you._

She held out her arm to the side, palm open. A new harness was placed into her grip and she pulled it on silently. Lena was selling her soul and she wasn't sure anything would be left soon.

Nothing but rash, efficient, empty Tracer.

“Well, then.”

Tracer finally turned to the woman at her side, resolutely holding her gaze.

Widowmaker smiled slowly. “Welcome to Talon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FAUST  
> And what shall I give you in return?
> 
> MEPHISTOPHELES  
> A mere trifle.  
> Here, I am in your service  
> But down there, you will be in mine.
> 
> loterie/lottery  
> Après toi/After you  
> headshots I could pull - the verb for firing a weapon is the same as to pull -- this one was a happy accident tbh


	3. Wolf's Clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolated as an outlaw and facing an eternity lost in time with her failing chronal device, Tracer found herself considering a decision she wouldn’t be able to take back. Along came Widowmaker offering a similarly extreme alternative in the form of an agreement with Talon: the only organisation left able and willing to keep her alive. Choosing to go along with it does buy her time, but Tracer is fully aware they are using her. Even avoiding the worst missions, she can't escape the fact that she is compromising who she has always been just to survive. Tracer isn't sure why they agreed to this -- or why Widowmaker offered at all -- but right now, it's all she has.

Widowmaker stood quietly at the two-way mirror as she watched the training course beyond. Tracer had breezed through the exercises, obstacles, and spars with total ease so far. It wasn't a surprise; everyone had expected her to be good given how much trouble she'd been on Widowmaker’s own missions. Despite the recollection of the annoyance, she had to admit a part of her genuinely respected the girl’s skills.

Tendrils of black smoke appeared by her side, rising until Reaper stood there, materialising with a raspy sigh.

“New recruit?”

“The freshest meat.”

There was a bit of silence as they watched Tracer zip through the maze, tearing through the bots with impressive speed. She had finished in mere seconds.

“Listen, I know this is procedure and all but I’m not gonna lie, treating me like a lab rat looking for cheese is a little insulting,” she complained loudly.

Widowmaker’s lips curled upwards a bit. “Wait for it…”

One edge of the plane the maze was on began to rise, the barriers turning into posts on what was now a vertical wall. Tracer jumped onto one of the posts just before the floor of the training area dropped away. “Well, bloody hell.” But she raced up this one almost as efficiently as the last, despite some misjudged blink distances. The new device was taking a bit of getting used to.

“She’s good, I’ll admit. Always has been.”

Widowmaker glanced at Reaper. “Still, you do not approve.”

“You know me, Widow. As far as I’m concerned, everyone ever involved with Overwatch can go straight to hell.”

“After you.”

“Ha ha.”

“Honestly, I would think you'd be proud. Recruiting the face of Overwatch into Talon? Willingly? It's a better revenge than her death ever would have been.”

“Fair enough.”

Tracer reached the end of the final course. Clearly knowing she'd passed with flying colours, she spread her arms open for a dramatic bow then bounced back up spinning her guns around her fingers. Her grin was smug.

“Cocky,” Widowmaker muttered.

“I'm just glad she's yours, not mine.”

Widowmaker frowned. “She is not mine. She will probably be assigned to someone with skills more in line with hers tomorrow.”

Reaper let out some semblance of a chuckle as he walked away. “Sure.”

\---

When Widowmaker found Tracer in her room, she was sitting on the floor fiddling with one of her guns. She’d already changed into the standard black and grey pyjamas they’d given her, which seemed about three sizes too large. Swimming in that shirt alone she looked twelve instead of twenty-eight and it was rather odd how unintimidating her former nemesis suddenly was -- not that anyone like Tracer could ever look genuinely frightening.

Tracer looked up as Widowmaker walked inside and deposited some mostly black clothing onto the bed: leggings and a long-sleeved top of the same material, both with red and orange accents, and a vest that looked lightly armoured. Black and orange goggles landed on top.

“You’re going to need something a little less damaged and a lot more subtle for most of your missions.”

Tracer pointedly ran her eyes up and down Widowmaker’s body. “Subtle?”

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. “As in not practically glowing in the dark.”

“Ehh, I guess.”

Widowmaker picked up the bright orange leggings, practically tattered after the last training session, and scuffed leather jacket.

Tracer almost jumped up. “Oi! The jacket stays.” She wasn't going to be able to wear it, but it was the one thing she couldn't bear to part with.

Widowmaker just stared at her for a moment, then sighed and dropped it back onto the bed. “If you insist. Our regional director would like to see us in the morning. Meet me outside the training room at five to eight. Sharp.” She left without waiting for a reply, closing the door behind her.

Tracer went back to staring blankly at her gun for some time, running her fingers over some of the markings. At least she'd got to keep these, she thought, even though the colour of their lights had been changed. Her jacket was still here too. The relics she had left of a past life.

She had wondered what joining Talon would be like, but with all of her fantasies, she hadn't expected the reality that it felt so… normal. The facilities were higher tech, the colour scheme black which meant it took itself far too seriously, but outside of that it felt hardly different than the day she had officially joined Overwatch. Training, meal, new clothes, sleep. No evil indoctrination video, nothing. The exercises today had even given her the kind of rush she hadn’t felt in ages.

Maybe that normalcy was why it was so easy for people to join Talon. It was a job like any other, just slightly more illegal. Or a lot. Probably depended on the operative. What laws would she wind up breaking? Talon had told her they would respect the boundaries she had set, but she didn’t know how long that would last. She wondered when her first mission would be -- and with whom. She wouldn’t be surprised if she wound up with Widowmaker and her missions tended to be… well…

A bubble of anxiety rose inside her chest, dragging along the gloom that had consumed her the previous few weeks, but she tried to quell it before she could think about it too hard. This had been the best option -- the _only_ option to survive another day -- and there was no going back. Whatever came at her she'd deal with by jumping headfirst into that too, as she always did.

She rose to switch off the light and collapsed on the bed, the exhaustion of the day catching up to her. She faced the soft orange glow of her accelerator, of course a difference from the years she had spent with her other one, but still calming as it kept away the darkness that constantly reminded her of the accident. The lights going out on the dashboard. The alarms ringing in her ears. And then… black.

Angela had said she might not remember what had happened in the Slipstream itself due to the trauma, and indeed for some time after she had resurfaced, everything in her memory had been blank. But bits and pieces had slowly returned in dreams, reminding her that the noise and darkness were something to be feared. Her device had saved her in more ways than one. She’d had girlfriends complain in the past about her chronal accelerator lighting up the room every night, but it had been non-negotiable for her sanity -- until it had begun to fail. But it wasn’t anymore.

Lena turned onto her back, finally forcing her thoughts away and falling asleep far sooner than she would have expected given this decision that she should have lost sleep over. As much as she would hate to admit it the next day… she slept better than she had in months.

\---

A strange repeating noise filtered into the remnants of Tracer’s dream. She fought her way through fog in her mind, trying to figure out where it was coming from. She cracked open an eye that fell onto a clock on the opposite side of the room. A little over twenty minutes to eight. A frown fell across her face as she tried to figure out why it was ringing -- she certainly hadn't set it. Maybe someone else had, but why at this--

“Oh, bollocks.”

Tracer jumped out of bed and hastily began pulling on clothes. If they were meeting with the director, today was not the day to be late. She snapped on her chronal accelerator just as she grabbed her toothbrush for a dash to the half bathroom. When she finished, she blinked out of her room, up the stairs and ran to the training room. Widowmaker gave her a slightly curious look when she arrived, but in the end chose not to question how out of breath she was.

“Appreciate the alarm I set you?”

“Oh.” Tracer hadn't even had time to consider that the alarm had been Widowmaker’s doing. “Yeah, it kind of saved me to be honest.”

“How did you ever get anything done with how absent-minded you are?” Widowmaker set off down the hall towards a lift in the back that Tracer hadn't seen yet. But then the words registered.

“You know, I'm sort of off-kilter here for obvious reasons I'd think.”

“Orona does not like to be kept waiting, regardless of why.” The lift ride up was short and opened directly into a large, dark room. “Stay here.”

Tracer waited in the back of what appeared to be the director’s office while Widowmaker walked up to who must have been said director, a middle-aged woman sitting behind a lamp-lit desk. Her hair was as stark white as her jacket and pulled up into a sleek chignon. She looked like she would never let so much as a speck of dirt get anywhere near her.

As Widow approached, Orona set down her glasses. Her voice wasn't loud, but was amplified by the echo of the largely empty room. “Ah, you're both here.”

“Of course. This is about our new agent?”

“Indeed. As good as she is, she needs some supervision from someone who knows the ropes. You've been assigned as her handler.”

“What?” Widowmaker frowned. “Our work styles are completely different. You're turning me into a babysitter?”

Tracer whipped her head up in indignation. “Hey!”

Widowmaker ignored her. “I have better things to do than sit around _handling_ her.”

“She's your recruit,” Orona maintained. “It's your job to get her acclimated, not to mention she can easily create space for you on missions.” Her voice lowered so that no one but Widowmaker could hear. “And if she screws us, it's on you.”

But Widowmaker simply scoffed. “You honestly think that girl is capable of deception on that level? She accidentally knocked a piece off a model last week and I wouldn't have even noticed if she hadn't immediately turned red like a tomato.”

“She could still change her mind. Hesitate. Even you did, once.”

Widowmaker narrowed her eyes at the pointed remark but she wasn't deterred. “I was a different person then. Tracer, as much as she may like to think so, is not. She knows exactly what she is doing.”

“I hope she won’t turn out to be a troublemaker, for your sake.” Orona glanced at Tracer a bit warily. “She's still in your charge until further notice. The sooner you start today, the sooner she'll be out of your hair.”

Widowmaker sighed and walked away. “Fine.”

Tracer followed her out as the lift closed them in again. “What was all that about?”

“The fact that I don't get paid enough to be tolerating you day in, day out for who knows how long.”

“Well, aren't you a charmer?” Tracer crossed her arms. “It's all your doing that I'm even here in the first place.”

“Quite the sacrifice it's turning out to be.”

“The feeling’s mutual if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not particularly.” The lift opened to a corridor which Widowmaker walked down, pointing to various doors. “Here is one conference room, stairwell up to the commissary, stairwell down to locker rooms both of which you already know. The training range is at the end of the hall. There is also a common room up ahead on the left.” She sounded like she was trying to get through everything as quickly as possible. “There's a television in there for catching up with the outside world, should that interest you.”

It rather did. Just as they walked by, Tracer noticed her face on the screen. She paused. “Erm…”

Widowmaker stopped as well and followed her gaze. “Ah. That was fast.”

The two stood in the doorway for a moment watching the news report which wound up being relatively brief. Tracer’s old chronal accelerator had been found just that morning but no one associated with Overwatch nor the authorities had commented on anything yet.

Widowmaker turned to Tracer. “Don’t let this distract you. They won’t find anything and it will take days for official reports. In the meantime, we have work to do.” She continued down the hallway and Tracer reluctantly dragged herself away to follow.

They reached another lift with a retinal scanner on the side that Widowmaker put her eyes to. When they walked into the lift, there were fifteen lower floor buttons on the side. Tracer raised her eyebrows. “Wow, what do you lot have going on down there?”

Widowmaker hit the button for the floor below with a pointedly raised eyebrow. “Do you truly want to know?”

Tracer grimaced. There was a chance Widowmaker was at least partially having her on, but she decided on her answer quickly enough. “Not really.”

“Good.” The doors opened into a hallway much like the one above. “You only have access to the main floor and this one. This is where we debrief after missions if I don’t report directly to Orona.” Widowmaker gestured to a windowed room on the right, filled with large screens and holograms. “And finally, around the corner is the accounting department.”

Tracer blinked. “Accounting?”

“Were you not paid in Overwatch?”

“Well, yeah but…”

“You thought we received compensation in the tears of our enemies?”

“Guess it does sound kinda weird when you say it aloud.”

“Incroyable,” Widowmaker muttered as she turned back towards the lift. “Tour is done for the day. You are scheduled for more training today and tomorrow. You will have downtime but don't leave base with all the press surrounding you right now.”

“Can't argue with that.” Tracer followed Widowmaker as they made their way back to the main floor, the latter practically bolting once they reached it. Whatever. Tracer had no complaints about spending the day on her own instead of stuck awkwardly by Widowmaker’s side. She'd take the luxury while she could.

That said, it turned out to be a bit difficult to figure out what to do with herself the next couple of days. When she wasn't obsessing over the news, as uninformative as it was, she was locked in a cycle of exercising and eating in a desperate attempt _not_ to obsess.

There was nothing she could do about the investigation, Tracer knew, and anyway she was positive Talon was keeping an even closer eye on the developments for their own sake. Widowmaker hadn't mentioned any issues -- not that she'd shown up at all. Tracer probably would have stayed out of Widowmaker’s way to begin with, but she had been mostly out of sight since two days ago. Perhaps on a mission. Who knew?

Tracer sat on her bed, sighing at the end of another uneventful day. She wasn't necessarily looking forward to beginning actual work for Talon, but she was afraid that once the novelty of the training sessions wore off, she would be horribly bored. And stuck with her thoughts -- which was never a good thing.

She glanced at the bag in the corner of the room, the one she had filled with a few things she'd decided to take from her apartment at the last minute. A couple of pictures, a medal, a small box with an even smaller model airplane she had made in the middle of some class in sixth year. She couldn't even remember what class it was, just that it was dull compared to dreaming of what she wanted to become. Her mates had seen her as so lucky, and she had been, going off into the Royal Air Force and then being recruited by Overwatch at such a young age. She had been living her dream, so proud of herself.

But then the accident. Then the fall. Which had inevitably led to this.

Would her younger self be proud of her now?

Before she even knew what she was doing, Tracer rose to pick up the bag and shove it in a drawer of the commode. These were not thoughts she needed right now. As she began to turn around, she jumped at the clearing of a throat behind her.

Widowmaker was standing in the doorway. Tracer had forgotten she'd left it open. “Your first assignment is tomorrow. Looks like we will be working together.”

 _Don't think I'm happy about that._ But Tracer was glad her mental filter was working for once. As uncomfortable as she was with the idea of going on missions with Widowmaker, the woman had saved her life.

That fact had been on her mind more and more throughout the day. The past couple of weeks had been so full of anxiety and turmoil, Tracer hadn't had much time to think clearly. Now, in this room, increasingly feeling how much of a burden had been lifted off of her shoulders, it occurred to her how incredibly indebted she was to Widowmaker. Even if she _still_ didn't like her.

“Well, like I said before, I'm not shooting to kill if I don't have to.”

Widowmaker shrugged. “Peu importe. I avoid the grunt work anyway; that's what you're there for. My only responsibility is the target. As long as you don't mess up clearing the way, do as you wish.”

“Oh, right then.” Tracer had honestly expected an argument. It was no secret that Widowmaker got a thrill off of what she did, so Tracer had assumed she took every opportunity she could to pick people off. Perhaps that wasn't quite the case.

“Meet me in the common room at noon. Don’t be late.” Widowmaker stepped out into the hall. “Sleep tight. Don’t let the spiders bite.”

“Very funny.”

The door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Incroyable/Unbelievable  
> Peu importe/No matter


	4. Mercies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so so sorry for dropping off for so long, but... life. Here's a couple of chapters to wrap up the exposition!

“Sorry I'm late!” Tracer ran into the common room two minutes past noon and almost slammed into Widowmaker -- whose face was all sorts of baffled annoyance.

“You have a device that lets you skip through time; how can you possibly be late?”

Tracer shrugged sheepishly. “It's a disease.”

“Clearly. Let's just get the job done; we have a strict timetable.” Widowmaker began walking towards the lift.

“So, where we goin’? Somewhere exotic?”

“South London.”

Tracer snorted. “Guess not.” Then she frowned a bit. “What's the mission?”

“A drug smuggler keeps trying to branch out into weapons shipments by digging into ours. Talon has had enough. You set up my way in, and I take the shot. Simple as that.” Tracer was quiet. Widowmaker resisted a huff of frustration. Tracer was wildly irritating when she rambled, but somehow her silence was even worse. “What is it now?” Probably some morality nonsense.

“Do we really have to just, assassinate him? Isn’t there another way to solve this?”

 _Naïve_. “He refuses to negotiate, kills anyone in his way, left two young children parentless because he didn't like the way their mother looked at him one day. Is that enough?” Not that she herself needed all of that justification, but she had made sure their first mission would be something Tracer wouldn't balk at. “And in any event, you might never have been an assassin, but I am sure you've killed for less in the heat of battles. Doing it for Overwatch is not as different as you think.”

The look on Tracer’s face told Widowmaker she had won this one.

Tracer sighed. “Where do we start?”

\---

“Woohoo!”

As Widowmaker scanned the horizon, she watched Tracer blink across rooftop to rooftop, occasionally throwing in a backflip or two. At the moment, she was just bobbing her head while stepping backwards in what Widowmaker had heard Americans call a… moonwalk? Then Tracer looked over at her and threw her finger guns with a smirk beneath her goggles.

Widowmaker should have forbidden her from testing her new abilities and just left her quiet and tormented with moral compunctions.

Before she knew it, Tracer had blinked back to her rooftop, hands on her thighs as she tried to catch her breath. “Wow… this chronal accelerator is bloody fantastic… five blinks in a row and twenty-five second cool-off? I’m in heaven.” She glanced up at Widowmaker. “What?”

“I am trying to decide whether it is too late to--” -- _drop you off of a roof again_ was perhaps a step too far even for Widowmaker-- “--take you back to base and let Orona deal with you.”

“Killjoy.”

Tracer gave her a face but it seemed a bit half-hearted. Widowmaker realised Tracer might have actually wondered if she were serious. Maybe she was. Either way, Widowmaker found it quite amusing. Or at least, her approximation of the emotion.

“Time to find the target.” She walked over to the edge of the roof and pointed to a warehouse a few buildings away. “He will arrive there from an armoured car in fifteen minutes. That means fifteen minutes to take out the guards, find a perch, and make an exit strategy. Sombra is elsewhere doing whatever it is she does so we will have to get in the old-fashioned way.”

“Always liked the traditionalist route myself.” Tracer swept out her arm before her in mock chivalry. “Après vous.”

It was the most ghastly pronunciation Widowmaker had ever heard out of that mouth and she decided to reply in her thickest French accent. “ _Terrible_.” Tracer just grinned. Widowmaker grappled to the next rooftop and swung over. Tracer followed. At last, they dropped down behind a pile of crates and examined the perimeter. “Four guards covering the front.”

Tracer vanished, then a few seconds later reappeared on her other side. “Two guards on each of the other walls. You know, those five blinks are hella useful.”

“And quiet, fortunately for us. Take them out. I will have my hands full with these four.”

“Gotcha.” And she was off. Tracer whipped around the building, knocking the guards out with a few pistol blows before they could react. That done, she grabbed and blinked the lot of them into an empty crate that she closed and bolted. “Sorry lads, not your lucky day.” That hadn’t taken long at all; Widowmaker would have hardly even noticed she was gone. She blinked back to the front, ready to jump into the fray--

The four guards were all lying prone by the warehouse door.

“Wha-- I thought you said you were gonna have your hands full. I was barely gone thirty seconds.”

There was the vaguest hint of a smirk on Widowmaker’s face. “I might have embellished that just a bit.”

Tracer followed her gaze to the venom mine at their feet. “Yeah, I’ll bet it was a load of work to toss that over there,” she muttered.

“I’m positively exhausted. Now hide them somewhere so we can get inside.”

“On it.” Tracer hesitated. “Are they--”

“Sleeping. For quite a while.”

Tracer wasn’t sure that was reassuring but she walked over and blinked them into another empty crate. She kicked the door shut. “Done and done.”

Widowmaker pulled her visor down to assess the interior. “It’s a small building. Just two omnic guards in the room in the back left corner.”

“Hm.” This time, her guns could easily incapacitate without entirely killing them.

Tracer reached for the bottom of the warehouse door, lifting it just enough to get inside. Widowmaker closed it behind them. “Take care of the omnics. I will get in position.” she grappled up to the walkway on the second level.

Tracer ran through the warehouse, keeping behind the cover of the stacked crates. Omnics tended to have much better sensory awareness than humans, so Tracer wasn't sure how easily she'd be able to get the drop on them. The one advantage she did have over them was speed, so maybe stealth wouldn't be necessary.

The doorway was shut when Tracer reached it. She kicked it open and blinked inside.

Bullets hit the wall next to her head.

“Damn--” She blinked behind the two omnics and fired at their unfortunately quite resilient weapon arms. Their bullets were fast and it didn't take long for them to lock onto her even after she blinked to the side. She needed to get this done before her chronal accelerator ran out of juice. She fired at their legs and saw with relief it was taking them down. She blinked behind them once more and fired there again, leaving them almost on their knees. She blinked forward, but just as she did, she had the sudden feeling she had picked a spot a bit too similar to one before.

A bullet ripped through her side. She cried out and felt herself losing her balance. She tried to focus.

 _Recall_.

She wound up behind them again. If they'd been capable of expressions, she guessed they'd look bewildered.

“Now. Where were we?” She unloaded a clip in both of their necks, finally close enough to mostly short them out. They collapsed and Tracer blinked them into the closet in the back of the room. She slammed the doors in on them and blocked the handles with a chair just in case.

“Tracer? Answer me!”

Tracer finally registered that there had been a small voice in her comm device for the past few seconds. She raised the volume and activated her mic. “Sorry Widow, couldn't hear you for a bit there.”

“What's going on?” Her voice sounded urgent. “That room isn't exactly soundproof.”

“Oh.” Tracer remembered she must have let out a bit of a yell with that bullet. “It's all handled, I'm fine. Just got caught off guard for a second. Kind of rusty being off active duty I guess.”

A sigh. “Get out here so you can watch my back.”

“Got it.” Tracer went back out the way she came and looked around until she spotted Widowmaker on a scaffold a couple of storeys up right by a window. “If you can make it out that window, I have an exit over here I can use.”

“Good.”

A mechanical groan began to sound. Tracer pressed her back against a set of crates, positioned to have a clear line of sight to Widow while being able to peek at the entrance. The loading door was slowly cranking upwards, revealing a black car with darkly tinted windows. There was no doubt their target was in there. The car inched inside then stopped, a couple of bodyguards stepping out. One put her hand to her ear. “The outside team isn't responding. Something’s wrong.”

“Those damn hires are good for nothing.” One back car door was opening.

The guard whirled around “Sir, I truly think you should stay in the car.”

Widowmaker’s voice whispered in Tracer’s ear. “On your six.”

Tracer spun around. A shot went off -- but on the main floor where she had just been looking. She didn't see anyone behind her. She turned back to the sound and saw only a pair of feet from a body lying on the ground, everything else hidden by the car door.

“False alarm.” Widowmaker again. “We're done here. Get out.”

There was panic in the warehouse as the guards scattered to find the shooter. Tracer felt her own heart racing, confused but with no time to think of anything but escaping. She took the door to the right of her, leading to a corridor and then finally to an exit. Outside, she orientated herself westwards where there would be a jet to pick them up. She jumped a fence and blinked away as much as she could to get any possible pursuers off of her tail. At last, she seemed free and clear.

“Not bad for a first mission, hmm?” Widowmaker dropped from the top of a building next to Tracer, landing gracefully on her feet.

Tracer looked at her, brow furrowed. “Er, yeah, just got a little worried at the end there when I thought someone was on me.” Had Widowmaker distracted her on purpose? Why? To spare her watching? That would be ridiculous. Perhaps it was a mercy she shouldn't question.

But being around Widowmaker still made her a bit nervous for obvious reasons and unfortunately, nerves and silence had a negative correlation for her. “Did you do that for me?”

Oh, there went her incorrigible mouth. Widowmaker shot her an annoyed look and Tracer immediately regretted it.

“Yes. To stop you from doing something stupid.”

“Ah.” Sounded about right.

Once back on base, there was little to do. Tracer spent that afternoon as well as most of her downtime the rest of the week in the training room to keep her mind occupied. Every morning was another run-of-the-mill mission to acquire documents or sabotage someone problematic. Tracer always -- in vain, of course -- asked what was in the files and had some sort of comment about the targets that inevitably annoyed Widowmaker… but it was often half-hearted. None had required a death like the first, but even beyond that, Widowmaker was right; Tracer had been part of a number of missions like these in Overwatch and there wasn't much of a difference here.

But still, a quiet part of her mind couldn't help wondering how long she would be able to ignore consequences. This was a desperate lifeline currently tame enough to delay most of the guilt, but it also helped her sidestep the fact that what she was living for was empty, unlike everything else she’d once committed herself to. Her ability to stake her identity in meaningful goals had crumbled well before Talon, but even though these distractions might keep the darkness at bay, perhaps it was only a matter of time before she couldn’t run from it anymore. Hadn't she once felt that living for its own sake would be pointless?

She did everything she could to not think any more on it.

She holstered her guns at the end of one last round of target practice and ran the back of a hand across her forehead. As usual, all she wanted at the moment was a shower, food, and sleep. She had left her change of clothes in her room so she went back out into the main hall to go towards the sleeping quarters. The door to the common room was ajar when she walked past and heard what sounded like a news anchor speaking.

_“--Oxton still has not been found but new evidence associated with her arose one week ago--”_

Tracer’s eyes widened and she doubled back to rush into the room, staring at the large television screen on the wall. They were showing a clip of her shattered old chronal accelerator on the street where she'd dropped it.

_“While official police reports have not yet closed the case, sources say that given her inability to survive without this device and no evidence of foul play, they will likely rule this a suicide. A funeral was held this morning attended mostly by former Overwatch colleagues as civilians looked on--”_

Words faded out of Tracer's awareness as she watched the footage. There were people in black crowded around what must have been a coffin. Their figures were distant and small, but Tracer felt tears stinging at her eyes as she noticed the outlines of Winston, Reinhardt, Morrison, and the Amaris. Even Torbjörn was there, as much as they'd butted heads over the years. But what hurt the most was the sight of Angela’s shaking shoulders.

And Emily’s.

She walked forward and roughly turned off the screen. Belatedly, she noticed a couple of startled people on the sofa staring at her. “You just gonna gawk at me all night?” Her brain didn't have time to rein in the emotional outburst, but since it made them leave, she couldn't quite regret it. She stood in the middle of the room staring back at the now dark screen, at a complete loss, until she felt someone come up next to her.

“You made the right decision.” Widowmaker’s voice was firm but not harsh.

“I just… wish no one cared about me at all,” Tracer confessed, frustration dissolving into sorrow. “I remember a point in my life like that. I could've disappeared and no one would've noticed. It wasn't exactly a good situation, but I thought, if anything happened to me at least it wouldn't hurt anyone else. Now… I can't imagine what they must be feeling. Angela… I hope she doesn't blame herself.” Tracer paused. “I don't really know why I'm telling you this.”

“I'm not sure either,” Widowmaker deadpanned. But then she sighed. “Loss happens to everyone. They will survive yours just as they survived the last. There is no time for regrets. Not for protecting yourself.”

Tracer looked up at Widowmaker with a certain amount of surprise now replacing grief. Widowmaker wondered if she were about to comment on the almost supportive words. “Go get some rest,” she continued before Tracer could say anything. “It has been a long week.”

Tracer nodded slightly, and silently left the room.

Widowmaker waited a minute before turning on the screen again. It was apparently a big news topic as there were yet another angle being covered, interviews with investigators, and other filler content. She just wanted to be sure there hadn't been discovery of anything pointing to her or Talon. Nobody would be happy about that development.

“Ooh, there's some real drama on the news tonight.”

Widowmaker turned to Sombra who had just appeared next to her. “They will be talking about it for at least a month.”

“Maybe even more. They'll probably even do one of those memorial montage things. People always get sentimental about interesting outlaws once they're gone.”

“Is that what you like to tell yourself?”

Sombra smiled. “They wouldn't even have my face to show for it.” She tapped her chin in thought. “Maybe I'll make it myself.”

Widowmaker gave her a curious look. “What are you doing here anyway? I thought you were busy.”

“I am. I've been in and out, just stopped in to grab something. Happened to walk by when I saw you… consoling our friend here? That's a first.”

“She is trying to hide behind her silly façade, but she is still emotionally compromised. Might as well make sure she won't do something irrational.”

“Thought you of all people would suggest some alternative to that problem.”

“There is no option that wouldn't risk her skills. They know how to make me optimal but Tracer is… different.”

“Yeah, she's a complicated enough case already,” Sombra mused. “No telling what would happen.”

“Indeed.”

“You might as well keep it up; it's certainly helping her acclimate. She’s lost her support system and I'll bet feeling like someone has her back is more important to her than black and white morality right now. She’ll be one of us before she knows it. And if she ever gets tired of how uptight you are, send her over my way.”

“So you can both annoy me to death? Non merci.”

“Ay, okay I see how it is.” Sombra’s tone was mock offended. “At least let me know if she starts annoying you more than I do. I do have a reputation to uphold.” She smirked. “Well, I’ve got a cruise to catch. I'll be back in a few days.”

“A cruise?”

“Yeah, you can use all sorts of transportation when you're invisible.” Sombra wiggled her eyebrows. “Bye, araña. Perhaps we can all have a girls’ night out when I get back.”

“I would rather take myself out with my own rifle.”

Sombra winked as she walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let go of how you knew me  
> Let go of what I used to be --Röyksopp & Robyn
> 
> araña/spider


	5. Friction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who says we have cold hearts acting out our old parts?  
> Let's perform our favorite little scene… --Passion Pit

It had been about a month now since starting missions with Widowmaker, assignments remaining about the same if not becoming a little more questionable. The first week had gone smoothly enough, but things since then had got a little… bumpy.

“Throw me the revolver.”

“What revolver?”

Widowmaker’s voice was a thin attempt at remaining calm as she whispered across the corridor. “The one from the guard we knocked out.”

“He's all the way back there! You didn't tell me to pick it up.”

She couldn’t help a disbelieving sigh this time. “You thought it was a good idea to leave a gun on him when we're still wandering around here? How did you ever survive in Overwatch?”

“No offense, but it never mattered since my missions went way faster when I didn’t have someone else to worry about.”

“Oh, so it is _my_ fault now.”

The gun was eventually retrieved, not that it made a difference in the end as Tracer had knocked the guard out a little harder than usual anyway. They escaped the mission physically unscathed. But annoyed.

It would become a trend.

“You gonna tell me why on earth we've got to blow up an entire plane just to make sure some memory chip is destroyed?” Tracer’s arms were crossed as she watched Widow set up a charge by the door. They were standing in a hall leading to the docking bay that housed the small craft.

“It is too risky to infiltrate. Even if we could, we have no idea where it's been stored.”

“Really? All that recon and tech and Talon can't pinpoint a measly chip?”

“I preferred you the first couple of weeks when you were too shell-shocked to complain this much,” Widowmaker snapped. “You're even more irritating now than when you were in Overwatch.”

“Old habits die hard when it comes to you killing innocent people.”

“There is likely no one on that plane. I am tired of your silly conscience.”

“‘Likely’ isn't good enough.”

“Yes it is.”

“Well, I don't agree!”

“Too bad.” Widowmaker didn't even look at her.

Tracer sighed in exasperation and reached out to grab the detonator from Widowmaker’s hand.

She got her arm twisted around to her back in reply. Widowmaker’s voice was deathly still behind her, carefully enunciating every word. “I… said… no.”

Tracer squirmed a bit. “You really gonna start this right here?”

“I am not starting anything. I am finishing it.”

“You're mad if you think you're gonna intimidate me into your every whim.”

“It's a mission, not a whim.”

Tracer blinked out of her grasp and whirled around in one swift movement. Widowmaker didn't have time to react before she herself hit the floor with a thud.

Tracer was on top of her, holding her wrists down by her head. “Two can play this game, you know.”

Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “We don't have time for this nonsense.”

But they wound up in a tussle anyway.

It was almost a relief, Widowmaker couldn't help but admit to herself. Tracer had been infuriating for days, winding her up to no end and making her crave an outlet. But it also recalled days of battles on rooftops, feeding the adrenaline rush she only got from a good kill, or a good fight. Tracer was one of the few who could keep her on her toes, so despite the frustration, Widowmaker couldn't completely regret their current partnership.

And Tracer? She thrived off of this although she was probably less likely to own up to that fact. Widowmaker had always seen that exhilaration, and as she pinned the girl to the floor, knee on her chest, it was quite clear then as well.

Tracer breathed heavily, trying to catch her breath, a glimmer in her eyes. “Been a while, huh?”

“Too long. Although making this a habit on missions might not be particularly wise.”

Tracer blinked her eyes, and Widowmaker noticed she was looking past her. “Uh… why’s that light there?” Widowmaker turned around, finding the flashing light by the door to the bay. “Is the plane already leaving?”

“Putain de--” A distant alarm began to sound, the two of them scrambling to their feet. Widowmaker was back to glaring daggers. “I am going to kill you once this mission is over.” She swiped up the detonator that had fallen to the wayside, forgotten.

“Maybe if we’d talked about this like normal--”

“There is no time for that anymore!”

“Fine, then follow me!” Widowmaker looked at her doubtfully. “Listen, I think I have an idea we’ll both like.”

Widowmaker set her jaw in exasperation. She felt like she might regret this, but the initial plan had already failed anyway. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Tracer ran off into the bay, Widowmaker following. They came to a stop as they saw the plane on the tarmac just past the bay doors. A couple of crew members descended the stairs from it.

“Told you,” Tracer mumbled. Widowmaker sighed in exasperation. But she didn't have time to say anything before Tracer rushed away again. “Wait here. Just keep an eye on the plane.”

Widowmaker frowned as she watched Tracer race towards the open tarmac. “What are you doing?”

“Making a distraction!” Tracer called behind her. “They'll be running off that plane with the chip before you know it!”

Widowmaker didn't bother arguing this time; she'd be ignored anyway. If Tracer got herself caught or killed, she deserved it at this point.

Tracer ducked into an airport vehicle off to the side, almost as quickly coming back out wearing a fluorescent vest. She ran towards the plane and began waving wildly to the passengers and crew on the tarmac. Widowmaker picked up her rifle, but even scoped, she couldn't at all tell what was being said, and for a few moments, no one moved. But then everyone began to look at each other, some hastily walking away from the plane while others ran. Tracer must have told them there was a danger. What did she think she was--

 _Oh?_ One crew member lingered then ran up the stairs onto the plane. A crackle came through to Widowmaker’s comm. “That flight attendant has got to be going back for that chip.”

It was the last thing Widowmaker wanted to admit, but Tracer was probably right. “Can you isolate her?”

“I’m way ahead of you.” Tracer jumped into the airport vehicle, stopping by the stairs. Widowmaker watched her gesture to the flight attendant as she came back out, succeeding in getting her into the vehicle. She then drove back towards Widowmaker who unscoped and stood as they drove into the bay and came to a stop.

The flight attendant was looking around in confusion. “Where are we? Didn't the other passengers--”

She silenced as Widowmaker’s rifle hit the back of her head, rendering her unconscious as Tracer caught her upper body.

“Ouch.”

“Just look for the chip,” Widowmaker muttered.

“Aha!” Lena pulled her hand from inside of the woman’s vest, revealing a tiny manila envelope.

Widowmaker took it and looked inside as Tracer exited the vehicle and came around next to her. Out of Widowmaker’s pocket came a mobile device which she slid the chip into. “This is it.”

Tracer smirked. “See? Shoulda listened to me in the first place.”

Widowmaker responded with the butt of her rifle in Tracer’s stomach, knocking the wind right out of her. “If you ever sabotage a mission like that again, you're not worth the trouble to us. As it is, our debrief with Orona should be quite interesting.”

Tracer’s face was a bit pale when she looked up and it wasn't just from the blow. The girl was clearly a bit terrified of the director. As she should be.

Back on base, Widowmaker couldn't wait to get said debrief over with so she could get Tracer out of her sight. She walked steadily into Orona’s office once the lift reached her floor, Tracer trailing behind. But it was only once Orona gave them a critical once-over from above her glasses that Widowmaker realised they both probably looked a bit worse for the wear. Tracer’s hair was wilder than usual and her vest a bit off-centre. Widowmaker reached up to find her own ponytail askew.

Orona looked at them sceptically. “Rough mission, hmm?”

Widowmaker put on her best collected tone even as the ridiculousness of their actions sank in. “There were a couple of people we needed to… subdue.”

“I think I can guess who one of them was.” Orona glanced at a reddening Tracer for a split second before returning her gaze to Widowmaker. “I suppose I don't have to remind you that your performance on these missions impacts the both of you and your positions in this organisation.”

Widowmaker shot Tracer a long-suffering look, but just as quickly returned to Orona. “The chip is now in our hands where we can confirm its destruction. We got the job done.”

Orona’s eyes were sharp, but she nodded. “Very well. You're dismissed.”

The two walked back to the lift where Tracer let out a deep sigh as soon as the doors closed them in.

She looked up at Widowmaker in curiosity. “Why didn't you throw me under the bus in front of Orona?”

“Because it would have looked unprofessional.”

“Because you want me to owe you a favour.”

“You already do.” Widowmaker pursed her lips. “But an extra one can't hurt.”

“I did get us out of all that at the end though. Just gonna point that out.”

“I could have strangled you as soon as you ruined the first plan. Just going to point that out,” Widowmaker repeated mockingly. 

As soon as the lift doors opened to the main floor, Widowmaker went off on her own and made sure she stayed that way for the rest of the week. By their next mission, things had mostly gone back to normal and the job went… decently.

Widowmaker watched Tracer with a critical eye while the latter put away her extra gear into her locker. She had certainly been tamer this time, but there was still an abrasiveness causing Widowmaker to itch for a good outlet. If they got into one more physical fight on the clock, however, Orona was going to smell it.

She threw a balled-up towel at Tracer’s head, causing her to turn around. “Spar?”

Tracer slowly grinned. “You're on.”

Widowmaker could resort to other ways of returning her harassment on missions. In the meantime, this could be a fairly effective stopgap in their routine. Tracer’s infractions now were usually minor things that could be brushed off or punched out with a post-mission boxing glove.

Until the day she did something particularly stupid.

Widowmaker was flat on her stomach, peeking out through her scope from the mezzanine of the abandoned hotel. Tracer was still outside taking out the stragglers of her previous firefight; Widowmaker had only been able to snipe what she could through the broken windows, mostly just zoning the enemy so as not to give away her position. She still needed to watch out for the hitman they were here to take out.

Widowmaker briefly glanced down, finding Tracer back inside. She had apparently needed every ounce of juice from her device, because it wasn’t lit when she began walking up the stairs. Walking. Such an un-Tracer thing to be doing. Widowmaker returned to her scope. 

“Widow!”

She looked up towards Tracer whose stricken gaze was planted behind Widow. Widowmaker followed it, turning around and finding herself staring straight at the target she had been looking for.

He had found her first.

She didn’t have time to point her rifle at the omnic before finding a gun to her own head. Tracer was still on the stairs. Maybe if she could cause a distraction, Widow could take the opportunity to--

Before she knew it, Tracer came hurtling in, slamming straight into the hitman and sending them both over the edge of the mezzanine. Widowmaker watched the two fall then hit the floor next to each other, guns clattering away. The hitman began to get to his knees and crawl towards his, but before he could reach for it, Tracer pulled out a small black object from her vest. Pulse bomb. She stuck it onto him point blank.

But her chronal accelerator still hadn't come back on.

Widowmaker’s eyes widened as she heard the beeps of the pulse bomb as Tracer tried to scramble to her feet. The hitman now grabbed her ankle instead, Tracer failing to shake his grip.

Widowmaker hardly processed a single conscious thought. She immediately scoped in on her rifle again and aligned her crosshairs onto the arm that had captured Tracer. The bullet flew through and she heard a cry as Tracer was released and she bolted away.

Not a moment too soon. Widowmaker shielded her eyes as the bomb went off, feeling some debris fly past her from the small explosion. When she could, she looked back down at the ground floor. There was charred ground and a still, metallic body where the hitman had been. She looked off to the side to see Tracer lying face-down on the other end of the room. Widowmaker jumped down and rushed over.

“Tracer!” Her slight form was prone on the ground. Widowmaker reached her and knelt down, turning her body over.

“Ugh.” Tracer reached up to press her palms to her eyes.

Widowmaker’s shoulders relaxed, but her brow furrowed angrily. “What were you thinking?”

“I… just wanted to get rid of him.” Tracer was still trying to catch her breath.

“By pulling a stunt like that?”

Tracer moved her hands to peek at Widow. “I got him off you, didn't I?”

“You almost got yourself killed.”

“But I didn't, alright?” Tracer’s wince belied her words as she slowly propped herself up on her elbow.

Widowmaker was frowning deeply, but this time said nothing. She rose and began to walk away, kicking Tracer’s pistols over to her feet.

“As if you'd complain if I did get blown to bits,” Tracer called after her.

“Perhaps I shouldn't with that mouth of yours,” Widowmaker shot back.

But Tracer seemed to be a bit more careful after that.

After another couple of weeks, Widowmaker found herself surprised that no new disasters had arisen. Their missions had become actually civil -- and even more effective. Amazing. Maybe they wouldn't kill each other after all.

Well… not yet, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putain de--/Fucking-- (merde/shit is the implied word there, but idiomatically it's equivalent to 'fucking hell')


	6. Convictions

Widowmaker squinted against the sunlight as she set her rifle on her shoulder and peered into her scope, examining their target building. The concrete of the roof they were on was a bit too reflective for her liking, but this was the best vantage point they had at the moment.

“It is broad daylight, you know. Don’t you think this spot is rather exposed for what we’re doing?” Tracer pulled uncomfortably at the collar of her black vest. “Not to mention scorching.”

“We won’t be here long,” Widowmaker assured her. “This is the best spot to find our way in with no buildings obstructing our view.” She pulled down her visor but couldn’t detect any heat signatures. “It should be more deserted in daytime than night anyway.”

“Oh? This old place a party spot or something?” Widowmaker looked up to see Tracer narrowing her eyes. “You know, you rarely really tell me about any of these missions in advance.”

Widowmaker tilted her head, relenting. “You likely know Battersea as nothing more than a decommissioned power station. In fact, it and its underground passages are a base of operations for an anti-omnic faction. Our primary mission is data retrieval, but if we can get a bead on her, our target is Elizabeth Hart, their leader.”

Tracer raised an eyebrow. “And we're supposed to get her out of the picture? Seriously?”

Widowmaker fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Let me guess: you have qualms about this one as well?”

“Uh… no, actually.” Even Tracer sounded surprised by her own answer. “Just wondering what Talon has against her. I know her lot; they rough up every omnic they run across like low-key terrorists. Thought Talon would more than enjoy the havoc they wreak.”

“Did you always question to death every single one of your Overwatch missions or are you particularly trying to annoy me?” Widowmaker’s voice was growing strained.

Tracer barrelled on. “It just doesn't make any sense that she's on the hit list. Why does Talon want to get rid of her?”

Widowmaker shot Tracer a sharp look. “You keep irritating me with questions and I'll get rid of you first.” Just like last time, it made Tracer pause as if she were debating how serious Widowmaker was being. Hilarious. “Let’s get going. The sooner we are out of plain sight, the better.”

Tracer blinked down the fire escape as Widowmaker descended with her grappling hook onto the ground below. There was a rather open space between them and the power station, but some parked lorries provided a bit of cover as they approached, finally stopping in front of a side door with an electronic keypad. Widowmaker pulled out a small device which she attached to the bottom.

“Sombra decided to be useful and provided one of these this time,” she commented at Tracer’s bemused face.

“To be honest, I mostly forgot you can even carry anything with that outfit of yours.”

“Ah, so when you're staring at my legs you're not admiring my pockets, then.”

“What? I don't -- I never--” Tracer sputtered helplessly.

“We're in.” Widowmaker suppressed a smirk as she walked inside. Tracer grumbled unintelligibly but seemed to accept defeat again, following without further conversation.

The light bulbs in the stairwell were faint and flickering, casting vague grey shadows tinged with the orange light from Tracer’s chronal accelerator. Once they reached a landing, Widowmaker looked at her in disapproval. “You wear your heart on your chest.”

Tracer cocked her head. “Technically the expression is wearing your heart on your s--”

“No, your chest. Always running around with your device readily available for anyone to snipe.”

“Oh. Well, then why didn't _you_ ever--” Widowmaker glared up at her and Tracer decided against finishing that sentence. “It was just too big to hide, really.”

“Not anymore. Take off your vest. You're supposed to be wearing it on top for more protection. Not to mention that light makes you visible from a mile away.”

Tracer shrugged and complied, pulling out her arms and extricating the vest from between the straps of her harness. Once she zipped it back up, it was rather striking how much less light was on the walls.

“Allez, let's get going.” The two quietly continued to make their way down the stairs until they reached a landing with a narrow door. Widowmaker pulled it open, walking through a small corridor that ended at a ledge. Tracer saw it was quite high up, overlooking a large room of pipes and power cores. Widowmaker lied down onto her stomach and pulled up her rifle. “Stay low. This area connects all the main parts of the building and thus has the most traffic. We will need to do a bit of reconnaissance here first.”

“Got it.” Tracer knelt down somewhat behind Widowmaker, more hidden in the shadow of the corridor.

It didn't take long to hear footsteps approaching. Tracer peered down to see a woman walking across the floor with a clipboard in hand. She was entirely oblivious to the pair above her. Two more people came by, equally unaware, but Widowmaker didn't move. Tracer wondered how long they were going to have to sit here surveying things. She was getting antsy.

Another pair of footsteps resounded down the hallway. This time, however, something seemed different. Tracer strained her ears to try and figure out what she was hearing. It sounded metallic.

A figure of metal stepped out into the light. Tracer’s eyebrows shot up. “Employing omnics? That's a plot twist.” Tracer glanced suspiciously at Widowmaker, wondering if she was hiding something.

But Widowmaker pulled away from her rifle and seemed just as confused. “Talon did think some of our intel on them wasn't making sense. I suppose we are about to find out why.” She scoped in again.

The footsteps stopped. The omnic froze, head turning slightly towards their perch. Tracer held her breath. The omnic just as quickly whirled around and hurriedly walked back the way they came.

Widowmaker tutted in dismay, unscoping as the omnic walked off. “They may have detected us.”

“Damn. If they get away and alert someone it'll ruin the mission.”

Widowmaker looked up as Tracer got to her feet. “You don't need to go down there and--”

“It'll make things easier. I'll be fine, just give me a second.” Tracer ignored the harsh whisper of her name as she jumped down from the ledge and raced after the omnic. She didn’t even listen for the sound of Widowmaker’s grapple in case she was following from above.

The hallway led through a doorway that opened up to a large, empty platform. No one could be seen on either side so Tracer walked forward to the edge. She paused there in front of a scaffold that descended onto another walkway below, the final barrier before what appeared to be an abyss. She jumped down from the platform onto the walkway and spotted a door on the other end of the chasm. The omnic must have gone through there. She looked around to make sure she hadn't missed any other exits, then blinked forward.

The walkway fell out from under her.

Tracer didn't even have time to make a sound, heart leaping into her throat in the free fall.

_Recall._

If only she had fallen the slightest bit sooner.

She found herself where she'd been the split second after she'd jumped off of the platform, plummeting down into nothingness once more. This time, she reached out a hand that just barely managed to grab onto the bottom rung of the scaffold. Her other hand quickly set her comm to open microphone before grasping at the scaffold as well.

“Ahh, Widow?”

“Yes?”

“I, ah, might have made a mistake.” There was a shadow some distance above her and Tracer looked up to find Widowmaker whose eyes widened. Tracer heard her grapple something in the distance before jumping off of the ledge and extending a hand down to her.

“This is as far as my cable goes. Can you reach?”

Tracer carefully let one hand go to try and get herself up to the rung above. Her other hand began to slip instead.

“Merde.” Widowmaker pulled herself back onto the platform but then almost immediately jumped back down.

Tracer cried out as she felt Widow’s arm grab her on the way down, forcing her to lose grip on the rung. But then there was the sound of the grapple again, finding purchase on the scaffold, breaking their fall, and then allowing them to launch back up onto the platform, landing in a heap near the door.

Tracer breathed heavily, her hands still clinging to Widow’s waist above her as she tried to quell the terrified rush of adrenaline. The coolness of Widow’s body was surprising yet almost soothing after the sweat of the scare. At last, she let go of Tracer and pushed herself up. Tracer followed her movements to stand. Halfway there, Widowmaker hauled her up by the shoulder and slammed her against the wall.

“What the hell do you think you were doing?”

Tracer glanced guiltily up at Widow who looked… worried? There was a flicker of fear in her eyes and it made Tracer blank on everything else for a second. But soon, the vaguely irritated, stoic face returned.

“T'es _conne_ , toi,” Widow muttered. That didn't sound very flattering, whatever it meant. Tracer wasn't sure if Widowmaker purposely threw in French words she didn't know, but she always managed to catch the meaning anyway.

“I guess that was a bit daft of me.”

“Ever since I stopped you from killing yourself you would think you would actually care about preserving your life.”

The words struck a painful chord. Tracer hadn't been this sloppy since her first assignments ever with Overwatch. Even after the seven-year hiatus, she had still proven herself to have a sensible head on her shoulders -- even more so than before in fact -- yet here she was making egregious mistakes on missions. Perhaps in clinging to a flighty facade, she hadn’t noticed that a part of her had never moved on from that rooftop.

“You need to make a decision,” Widowmaker continued, an unexpected sobriety to her tone. “Do you want to stay alive? Really?”

Tracer tried not to flinch at the intensity in Widow’s eyes. “Yes.”

“Then put in a little effort and act like it.” Widowmaker released her roughly.

Tracer swallowed and straightened despite the embarrassed flush on her cheeks.

Widowmaker turned away and began looking around the room. “They certainly knew you were after them if they set you up like that.”

Tracer did her best to collect herself, seeing that Widowmaker was going to spare her further scolding. “Yeah, seems like it.”

“They are probably on their way to alert everyone of our presence. We might have to brute force our way out of this.”

“This place is huge. With any luck we'll still be able to sneak around and avoid--”

The room plunged into darkness.

Tracer felt a chill go up her spine. Aside from the clearly dangerous situation, she hadn't realised how reliant she had been on the light from her chronal accelerator. Pitch darkness had been foreign to her for years.

And a little bit terrifying.

“Follow me.” Widowmaker’s confident voice and the sound of her visor lowering distracted Tracer momentarily. Seemed like Widow was going to be saving her once again.

“Anyone nearby?” Tracer tried to hide the waver in her voice but her pulse was rapidly increasing. “I can’t see anything. If it’s an omnic, they've got the upper hand and I’m dead.”

“It’s _your_ fault we’re in this mess,” Widowmaker hissed. “Get behind me and keep it together.”

Tracer shut her mouth, anxiously trying to comply as she gauged where Widow was standing.

“I don't think anyone is coming yet. I believe they are trying to trap us in here until they get backup.”

“That a good or a bad thing?”

Widow’s silence wasn't reassuring, but she let herself be dragged towards the door they had come out of. It sounded as though Widow were trying the knob.

“Sealed.” There was quiet for a moment. “I saw a vent when I ran in here. If I can find it…”

Widow walked away, it seemed along the length of the wall. But all she heard after a minute was a sigh.

“What about the door on the other side?” Tracer offered. “Looked like a service door.”

“If it leads anywhere, the next exit will be sealed as well.”

“But the place we reach might be lit and have a vent.”

“A risk.”

“Got any better ideas?”

Another sigh. “Fine.” Widow pulled her across the platform slowly, then stopped. “Don't step forward.”

“Don't plan on it.” One fall was more than enough. She heard Widow’s grapple launch, but not latch onto anything. The second time, however, it seemed to find purchase.

“Hold on.” Tracer did as told, grasping Widowmaker perhaps a bit too tightly, but the latter didn't object. “Get ready.”

“Alri-- ahhhhh!” Tracer’s stomach did somersaults as they plummeted into oblivion then swung across the chasm. Her voice cut off with a grunt as they hit the wall of the other side. She tried to catch her breath as she felt them slowly rise up the grapple. “I'm… not a fan of this rollercoaster ride.” She hated the horrifying sensation of falling in complete darkness, but at least there weren't any alarms going off yet -- the only thing that could make it worse. It was enough to have her heart skip two beats when she felt the grapple slide a bit.

And then a bit more.

“Ah, Widow?” Tracer’s voice rose anxiously. Her heartbeat was pounding loudly in her ears, competing with the sound of her own voice. But finally, Widowmaker began pulling herself onto a surface and Tracer did the same, managing to calm down a bit once they reached the platform.

As they stood, Widowmaker’s hand grasped her arm and walked forward. They stopped abruptly and Tracer heard the door open, light spilling out. As soon as they stepped through and the door shut behind them, Tracer heaved a deep sigh of relief. She needed to keep her head on her shoulders.

Widowmaker let her go and looked around the short hall they had reached. There was indeed a vent on the bottom of the wall which Widowmaker pulled at. The grill came off easily and she crawled inside. Tracer followed and closed the vent behind them.

The piping was only vaguely lit but wide enough to not be too claustrophobic. They kept going until they reached a split.

Widowmaker turned to face Tracer. “The right one should lead to the exit, the other to the inner portion of the plant. The base personnel will be on high alert looking for us so our attack on Hart is scrapped, but we should have a chance at obtaining some information. If they still think we are trapped in that room--”

“We split up,” Tracer interjected. “You can secure our escape and I can sneak into the office and grab something. Am I looking for anything in particular?”

“A tablet. It might not have everything, but it’s our quickest option since we likely won’t have time to transfer information onto a chip.” Widowmaker didn’t look convinced by the plan but it sounded as though she was willing to go for it. “We meet at our exit in five minutes.”

“Got it.” And Tracer was off.

Avoiding detection wound up being an easy task for Tracer who was luckily able to follow the ventilation all the way to the office in question. At least, she hoped it was -- she hadn't passed any others along the way. No one was inside, but once the personnel realised their intruders had escaped, they would be scrambling to protect anything valuable.

Tracer dropped down into the office and began scouring the desk for a tablet. Nothing. She went down the drawers on the side and found one locked. There was probably no time to look for a key, really. She swivelled out a pistol and shot at the lock, hearing a click and successfully opening the drawer.

“Nice.” She put away her weapon and out of the desk came the tablet which she slipped into her jacket pocket. She wasted no time returning through the vent and blinking to catch up with Widow. She reached another fork once she had passed their original divergence point. “Which way?” she whispered into her comm.

“Left. It will take us to the roof of the building where a Talon plane will be coming for us.”

“Roof?” Tracer stopped abruptly, finding a wall blocking any further travel. Then she looked up, finding a long vertical shaft with absolutely no rungs to help climb up. “Aw, hell.” Something began falling from above and stopped in front of her face. A grapple. “Aw, yeah.” She wrapped the cable around her hands, held on, and up she went.

\---

By the time they made it to base, Tracer found she'd never been so relieved to be back. The thrill of the mission, if she could call it that, had taken quite a lot out of her. She plopped down into a chair as soon as they walked into the debriefing room.

“God, I'm glad that's over.”

Widowmaker sat down across the table. “Yes, your decision-making made everything go so smoothly. Orona won't be here for another ten minutes. Perhaps you should not stay for the debriefing.”

Tracer winced. “Guess I'm getting in trouble.”

“What?” Widowmaker scoffed. “This isn't grade school. But I don't need you to be nervous about it in front of her.”

“Oh.” Was this another favour or self-preservation? That was always the question with Widowmaker, but Tracer decided to test the former. “Uh… thanks.”

“Convincing,” Widowmaker muttered.

Tracer wasn't sure how to feel about the response as she rose and began to leave. Widowmaker wasn't known for her generosity, and Tracer’s gratitude was wary… but even if she were to trust the gesture, it -- all of their interactions really, were tainted by a lingering resentment that had never quite worn off. As she reached the door, she paused and turned back around. They were stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, so maybe it was finally time to be on the same page.

“Look. It's not that I don't, ah, appreciate certain things, but it’s a little hard to reconcile with… other things. Things that mattered to me.”

“Let’s get this over with, then.” Widowmaker leaned back in her chair. “What have you been holding onto all this time?”

“That assassination at King’s Row. Mondatta. It was… personal for me.”

Widowmaker raised an eyebrow. “Personal?”

“My first mission as an agent was the first thing I did after the Slipstream accident. I hadn't stepped foot off of base for months. I refused to pilot, but even if I could have worked towards it, I didn't want to. I thought I could make a difference -- knew I had to when London started burning. We saved hundreds of people on that mission: Londoners, visitors… and Mondatta.” Tracer sighed. “With what you did, it felt like it half erased what we had accomplished. All of that work and seven years later you finish the job that Null Sector couldn't.”

Widowmaker seemed unimpressed by the speech. “You want me to tell you what I did meant something to me?”

“I don't care what it means to you!” Tracer shot back. “But I'm telling you it meant something to me. Regardless of what else happens, I want you to know that’s something I’ll never forget.”

Widowmaker tilted her head in acquiescence. “Fair enough.”

The response, while casual, wasn't mocking for once. Whereas months ago Tracer would have written Widow off as sadistic, it had become clear that most of the time her emotions were too muted for that to be her primary motivation. At the moment, she was only being callous at worst, and it reminded her that something about Widow was making less and less sense. “Why do you enjoy it?”

“What?”

“Killing.”

Widowmaker seemed surprised that Tracer had dropped her confrontational tone for a question like this. She shrugged, counting off on her fingers. “It's the job. They wanted me to. It's my sense of control, and power is quite the drug. Thought you would expect an answer like that at this point.” She scoffed. “What good is living anyway? Death is inevitable and all lives are equally worthless in the end.”

“Then… why do you keep saving mine?”

Widowmaker’s piercing eyes snapped to Tracer’s. Tracer felt her breath catch at the gaze. But almost as quickly as it came, it vanished.

“It is the job,” came the strangely banal reply as Widowmaker looked away again. “Now get out of here before you get stuck with Orona.”

Tracer couldn’t argue with that incentive. She turned away and complied this time.

Missions became routine after that -- fewer mistakes, quicker results. Tracer had to admit that their increasingly seamless teamwork in the heat of the moment was beginning to actually feel satisfying. To top it off, even the less palatable jobs were something Tracer could handle, and now she couldn't help considering the possibility that this was Widowmaker’s doing.

In the back of Tracer’s mind, she was keenly aware that she’d never got a satisfactory answer to her final question the day of that last hairy mission. And she couldn't help but wonder if underneath the coldness, there was a very human reason why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T'es conne, toi/You're an idiot


	7. Only Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic/PTSD CW

Three months.

Tracer’s eyes were trained vaguely on the cobblestone street before her as she walked, lost in thought. Three months since her decision to throw her life away. Three months since her change of mind and embracing an entirely new way of living.

Three months of having no idea whether she'd made the right decision… but also not yet finding a reason to fully regret it.

Missions had remained tame thus far outside of her initially volatile interactions with Widowmaker, but now that the animosity had mostly abated, Tracer found that things were almost too quiet. She was getting stuck in thoughts about how things were before and wondering whether things were even remotely okay now. Whether _she_ would turn out remotely okay. Whether she would ever again be able to see anyone of her past life…

“Tracer!” Widowmaker’s stern voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you listening to me?”

“Er…”

Widowmaker sighed in exasperation. “Why do I bother with you?”

 _Good question_. But Tracer elected not to voice that reply.

“Your quarter year check-up will ensure that there are no issues with your device. Given how new the technology is, Dr Sadeghi will also be performing additional tests for future improvements.”

David had been a bit of an anomaly, at least as far as Tracer could tell. He had been nothing but sympathetic and helpful so far so she had to wonder what had drawn him into Talon in the first place and whether he was entirely genuine. Certainly the more they interacted, the more Tracer would pick up, so she would try and sneak in some questions today. They had almost reached the outpost now.

“Orona?” Lena glanced to the side to see Widowmaker’s hand on the comm in her ear. “We are on our way to the lab. What--” A pause. “Can't this wait until after the maintenance?” A sigh. “Very well.”

“What is it?”

Widowmaker lowered her hand. “We may have a situation over at one of our storage depots; the head of operations hasn't been responding to calls. It could be a communications outage, but we need to check it out.” Tracer’s lips tightened. Widowmaker seemed to notice. “The maintenance is just procedure and peace of mind. It won't matter if we wait until tonight.”

Tracer relaxed a bit and nodded. “Alright. Where to?”

“A place north of here in the country. Talon has a rental car waiting for us at the train station a few blocks away.”

The vehicle was certainly necessary; their destination wound up being in what felt like the middle of nowhere. There was only a tiny village a few kilometres away and this place looked as nondescript a warehouse as any.

“You know, given your outfits, I'm surprised all of Talon's buildings look so boring.”

“One can afford boldness with the assurance of an escape. Large warehouses don't quite have that luxury,” Widowmaker pointed out dryly.

“Touché.” The two went around the back of the warehouse where a few lorries were parked with their containers open. The cargo bay doors, however, were all closed. “Odd.”

“Agreed.” Widowmaker proceeded to a smaller door with a keypad next to it. She typed in a code which unlatched the lock. “Hm. If we do have unwanted visitors, then they either haven’t gotten around to changing the codes yet, or…”

“Or this is a trap,” Tracer finished.

“We don’t have much of a choice either way. Just keep an eye out for trouble.” Widowmaker carefully opened the door and walked inside, Tracer following and closing it behind them. The hallway was dimly lit and entirely silent as they walked through, only the sounds of their footsteps echoing along its length. Once they had cleared it, Widowmaker peered through the window of the next door. “This is the main storage area. The control office is at the other end.”

Widowmaker slowly opened the door, the two of them crouching as they walked through. The entire surface was filled with crates and containers which they used as cover as they snuck around the edge of the room, staying in the shadows. Once they were close to the office, Widowmaker pulled down her visor.

“There are two heat signatures inside. I don’t see anyone else in there, but we should still be careful.”

“Omnics?”

“There could be. There is also technology to avoid infrared detection. Either way, I highly doubt two people alone managed to take over this facility.”

“How many people were supposed to be working this place?”

“Ten.”

“And we’re sure this is a hostile situation?”

Widowmaker’s jaw was tight. Tracer suspected she wasn’t sure and wasn’t happy about that fact. “I can’t call in backup until we’ve verified it, but if it is, we would be in over our heads trying to handle it alone.” She rose somewhat, moving closer to the control room. “The door is somewhat open. I’m going to have a look inside -- wait here.”

Tracer knelt behind the crates as she waited for Widowmaker to return. It didn’t take long before her slender figure reappeared next to Tracer. “Verdict?”

“Bad news. Let’s get out of here.”

Widowmaker turned to the exit, putting her hand to her ear. “Orona, we need backup at the warehouse. I’ve spotted at least six hostiles, both human and omnic. We will attempt retreat to avoid engagement.”

Tracer followed as Widowmaker tried to make a swift exit, but halfway there, the lights suddenly dimmed. They paused, Widowmaker’s eyes flicking around, on edge.

Tracer had a sinking feeling in her stomach. “Ever get that feeling of déjà--”

Something was thrown over her head, muffling her voice as she cried out. Vaguely, she could hear Widowmaker struggling as well, but a strange scent was overtaking her, and Tracer felt her senses blurring, her knees growing weak.

And then everything went black.

\---

Widowmaker came to in complete darkness. For a moment, she wondered if something were covering her eyes, but she felt nothing against her face. Slowly, she began to make out vague outlines of a small room. She relaxed a bit, finding she was still in control of her faculties -- and then the recollection of how she’d got here finally hit her. She pulled at her arms that were bound behind her, but nothing gave.

“Tracer?” Nothing. “Tracer, are you there?”

“Mm…?” The drowsy hum came from several metres behind her. “Widow?”

“Are you alright?”

There was another pause. “It's dark.” Widowmaker resisted an ‘ _obviously_ ’. Tracer sounded oddly quiet. “I can't move.”

“Neither can I,” Widowmaker sighed. “They certainly did not want us so much as figuring out where we are. I don't think they counted on me, however.” Widowmaker’s visor was only part of the way her vision had been enhanced -- at least she could see in the dark more than most. “I believe we are in an old storage closet since there isn't much here besides some cleaning supplies in the corner.”

“I can't see anything.” Tracer’s voice was still soft but now there was a waver there that was setting off alarm bells in Widow’s mind. She had only heard Tracer sound like this once, back at Battersea when they had been discovered and the lights shut off. It seemed ridiculous to think that a veteran agent like Tracer might be afraid of the dark; Widow had no idea what it would have come from nor had she ever observed any reactions like this before.

But of course she wouldn't have. Tracer's chronal accelerator gave off plenty of light and it was only since that mission that it was being covered by her vest. Widowmaker closed her eyes in dismay. It had seemed like the best recommendation, but she was beginning to think it was only making things worse. And this time, she wasn't able to be Tracer’s eyes since she was stuck too far away.

“Can you undo your vest?”

“No. I just tried.” Her tone was now thinly veiled fear.

“Don't panic.” For whatever those words were worth. “I will find a way to get to you.” Widowmaker scanned her limited surroundings once again. She was tied to a support pole on one side of the room so Tracer must be tied to another. It felt like zip ties around her wrist which on one hand meant squeezing out of them was practically impossible…

But on the other hand, the small blade she kept on her would be quite useful. People never thought to check her body given the outfit she wore.

Widowmaker shifted a bit so her fingers could reach a side inseam of the back opening of her bodysuit. She could fortunately feel the rigid outline of the blade hidden within it. Deftly, she began to push it out of its tiny pocket, finally getting a hold of it and pulling it out completely.

“I will be out of my binds in a moment.” She carefully began to saw at the hefty plastic. It would take more than a moment, but Tracer probably needed something to hang onto.

“How?”

“I am surprised you never figured it out that time you left me zip-tied to a seat on the Underground.”

“I liked to leave it to the imagination.”

Tracer still didn't really sound like her normal self, but the little humour was a step in the right direction. 

And then real alarms began to blare.

Widowmaker felt adrenaline shoot through her, glancing around but seeing nothing change. The noise was deafening, echoing off of the walls of the closet. Someone from Talon must have initiated an emergency protocol so hopefully that meant help was close. That, or the intruders would hasten their attempt to get rid of anyone in the way…

Through the alarm, Widowmaker now heard a small cry. A whimper, she would even call it. She then heard it again, to her dismay, more drawn out this time.

This was bad.

“Tracer?” Widowmaker had to yell to be heard. For a moment, there was no other sound. “Tracer!”

“I'm sorry!” It was almost a sob. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm…” Her voice was lost in the noise.

“Listen to me! Are you listening?”

“...Yes.”

Widowmaker didn't really know where she was going with this, but she felt as though she were losing Tracer to whatever had taken over her mind. Keeping her responsive was all she could think to do. “Can you see your chronal accelerator at all?”

“Mm.”

There must be some light escaping from beneath the vest -- probably how Widowmaker was able to make out anything at all. “That's good, right?” Widowmaker didn't receive a reply, but she also didn't hear any more fearful sounds out of her. That was probably the best she could hope for at the moment. “I am almost free. Hold on.” She sawed through the remains of her binds as quickly as she dared without risking the blade falling from her hand. A relieved breath escaped her once she was free. “I’m done. I’m coming to you.” She rose to her feet and rushed towards Tracer, kneeling down and getting to work on her wrist binds.

As soon as Tracer’s hands were free, they desperately reached out to grab Widowmaker’s wrists. The latter froze, staring at Tracer with wide eyes. Where was this panic was coming from?

“What is wrong?” She didn't get a reply. Tracer’s hands then just as quickly went to her ears as she curled in on herself. Getting Tracer’s vest off would be ideal, but Widowmaker wasn’t sure what even merely touching Tracer right now would trigger. She briefly looked around for something she could use to get the door open. Maybe getting some light in the room would help. “I’m going to open the door.” She rose and tried to scan the shelving for anything remotely close to a crowbar, heart falling as she came up empty. She looked for a light switch and even tried the door in a last-ditch effort that of course yielded nothing. Either way, even if she did figure out something, Tracer looked like she couldn't move. Widowmaker had no idea how to handle this.

Not a moment later, a small light bulb flickered on above and the alarm shut off. It took Widowmaker a while to make sure with the ringing in her ears, but seconds passed in pure silence. Tracer was still holding her hands to the sides of her head, however, and Widowmaker knew she needed to deal with this now.

“Speak to me.” There wasn't time to dance around this whether it would be ally or foe coming for them. “What is happening with you?” There was no reply and Widowmaker returned to her knees. “At least breathe.”

Fortunately, Tracer seemed to decide to do just that, beginning to take deeper, audible breaths, however shaky. Widowmaker waited, trying to cling to some semblance of patience so as not to set Tracer off before she had sufficiently recovered. This felt incredibly precarious.

“The plane,” Tracer at last blurted out. “That's what it sounded like.”

 _Plane?_ “What are you talking about?”

Tracer’s arms lowered to tighten around her knees. “It was dark when I got stuck in the timestream. Couldn't see anything for… a long time. All I could hear forever were the sirens when the Slipstream began to fail. They were so loud…”

Widowmaker couldn't help but feel a slight chill as she at last saw where this was coming from. She had never heard all of the details of the accident, but she had recently got a few more pieces when stopping Tracer from her original plan to avoid an experience like that again. That was enough to be sobering.

“Tracer.” Tracer’s eyes had grown blank and distant again, but slowly she looked up at Widowmaker. “You are not there. Do you understand?” There was nothing for a moment, but eventually there was a slight nod in response. Widowmaker held in a sigh of relief. “Can you get up? We need to get out of here while we still can.”

Tracer nodded tightly, gingerly standing up. The disorientation on her face was unnerving. This was gregarious, lively, carefree Tracer who constantly commanded attention to her presence. Right now, it looked like she was hardly here at all.

“Widowmaker?”

The voice came from outside. Widowmaker turned towards it. “I demand to know who you are and what you are doing in a Talon facility!”

“This is Agent Sumardi. Orona sent us as soon as you contacted her.”

Widowmaker let out the breath she had been holding. “Did you neutralise the intruders?”

“We did. Seems they got their information from Hart and decided to hit us.”

“Not very effectively,” Widowmaker muttered. “Can you get us out of here?”

“The door should unlock in a minute or so -- the rest of the team is still securing the control room.”

Widowmaker returned her gaze to Tracer, who looked a bit more alive now, but still very much not herself. The last thing she needed was for Talon to see her like this, but she suspected that time would not be sufficient to erase whatever had just possessed her. She faced the door again when she heard a click and saw it slide open. There was their agent in shining armour.

“Just got word that the facility has been completely secured. You two alright?”

Widowmaker hesitated. “We were drugged before being imprisoned. We need to get ourselves checked out.” She walked out and motioned for Tracer to follow. Above all else, Widowmaker had to get her out of sight of the other agents. If they saw her state and reported it or if even a rumour went up the grapevine… “Take over from here.”

“But--”

“Would you rather I be forced to write up the main report and explain in detail how you utterly neglected a direct order?” The agent swallowed nervously. “Get on it.” She swivelled away towards the exit. Tracer was quiet in her wake until they re-emerged into the sunlight. As they reached their vehicle, Widowmaker crossed her arms and faced her with a stern gaze. “You need help.”

“I'm fine--”

“Pfft. I did not know you were even capable of a mental breakdown like that.” Tracer was silent. In hindsight, Widowmaker realised those words probably hadn't been the best, but it wasn't as though Tracer was expecting a bedside manner from her.

“I'm not going back to Talon to have them try to _fix_ me.”

Widowmaker looked at Tracer’s pale face, understanding where this was going. Beyond anything, Tracer had needed to make sure she would still be herself after joining Talon and she was afraid that them seeing this weakness would change their minds about reconditioning. Widowmaker couldn’t argue that; it had been her first concern as well. Perhaps just getting her back to her room and making sure she got some sleep would be the best course of action.

But the maintenance.

Widowmaker sorted through some ideas in her head. “Just get in the car. I need to check in.” She walked away, hoping to be out of earshot with Tracer’s car door closed behind her. If they didn’t show up to the outpost, David might inform Orona which would lead to unwanted questions. She had no choice but to contact him directly and hope he would be discreet. Widowmaker pulled out her mobile from her pocket and dialled.

“David Sadeghi.”

“This is Widowmaker. We may need to reschedule the maintenance tonight. This past mission was… complicated.”

“Oh. I would have expected Tracer to at least feel some relief with the check-up.”

Of course, a request like Widowmaker’s would bring up far more questions than she could avoid. “She has other things on her mind right now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that. Is she alright? What happened on the mission?”

He actually sounded suspicious. Widowmaker hadn’t expected that, but perhaps it meant that he was genuinely concerned. Given their lack of options, maybe this risk was worth taking. “She is not alright. What happened to us seems to have triggered unfortunate memories.”

“I see. Are you taking her back to base for evaluation, then?”

“No. She does not trust the way they might handle… psychological divergence.”

“Ah. Why don’t you bring her here? Everyone else has gone for the night and I can at least see what we’re dealing with.”

Widowmaker wasn’t sure whether Tracer would agree to share much, but at least it would be a somewhat familiar face. “Very well. We will be there in an hour.” She walked back around the corner and settled into the driver’s seat, finding Tracer staring at her. She was probably concerned Widowmaker had been discussing her situation with Talon. “That was David. I told him we are on our way for the maintenance.”

“Can’t we just go back to base?”

“Delaying will raise suspicions. This is for the best.”

“But--”

“No arguments.”

Tracer’s face remained stony and not a word left her the entire drive over. Widowmaker was almost surprised she even agreed to enter the shop. David looked up from the till on the side as they walked inside.

“How are you, Tracer?”

The tone implied more than a superficial question and so Tracer turned back to Widowmaker with a betrayed look on her face. “You told him.”

“She mentioned something was wrong,” David answered, “so that the rest of Talon won’t hear about it.”

Tracer glanced uncertainly between him and Widowmaker, but seemed to be considering the possibility that he was sincere. “So, what am I here for?”

“I'm a doctor, remember? I might be able to help.” He smiled sympathetically and gestured to the back of the shop that would lead down to the lab.

Tracer paused, still caught in her internal debate. But in the end, she walked over.

Widowmaker watched her go, waiting for the two to be sealed behind the door before putting a hand to the comm in her ear.

“Orona?”

There was a pause before a voice came through. “Widowmaker. I assume you are still off-base due to the maintenance?”

“Yes. Given the ambush, the device needs a more thorough tune-up and Dr Sadeghi will need to monitor it over the next week for testing. Missions are not advised.”

“Very well. The last thing we need is her disappearing on us.”

 _And the last thing I need is you finding out she is a complete wreck right now._ As great of an urge Widowmaker usually had to blame things on Tracer, the girl’s effectiveness was still her responsibility. Hopefully she could recover before their next mission.

It was at least an hour before the door in the back opened and Tracer re-emerged. Her face looked tired as she walked over to Widowmaker who rose.

“Ready to go?”

Tracer merely nodded in reply. She trailed after Widowmaker who walked outside to the car on the curb, then sat herself into the passenger seat while Widowmaker took the wheel. The latter didn’t say anything as she started the engine and pulled away from the pavement.

With Widowmaker focused on the road, Tracer snuck a glance at her face, trying to figure out what was going through her mind. Today had been… unfortunate, to say the least. She still felt a little shaky, but mostly drained at this point. David, to his credit, had in fact been qualified enough to calm her down and be a sympathetic ear. She usually didn’t like talking about things like this, much less with someone she didn’t know well, but she had been upset enough to grudgingly give in. Given how David had handled it all, she had to say he had been elevated in her eyes, as much as someone could be as part of Talon.

And then there was Widowmaker. Talon’s perfect weapon hadn’t so much as snapped at her over this incident, and had somehow done the best possible thing in bringing her here. Tracer felt a pang of guilt at the way she could have sabotaged the both of them earlier. This would be a strange thing to say to Widow of all people, but she felt compelled to. “I'm… sorry.”

Widowmaker wore an unreadable expression. “Neither of us expected it.”

“I should have, though.”

“It does not matter now. We will just try to avoid triggering that again.”

She sounded oddly unbothered. As though the mission hadn't been almost ruined by her panic attack. Pushing certain topics was always risky with Widowmaker, but Tracer couldn't help wanting more certainty. “Are you sure you're not upset with me?”

Widowmaker glanced at her with eyes that for some reason didn’t seem judgmental. “We all have our spiders.” She returned her gaze forward.

Tracer wasn't entirely sure what that was supposed to mean, but the calm response was still a relief. And even beyond the absolution of today, it seemed that her questions were no longer irritating Widowmaker the way they had been before. Discovering that felt… nice. Despite everything that had happened that day.

Tracer couldn’t say she slept particularly well that night, but at least she had the luxury of downtime until the following week. Her schedule instead consisted of getting up, training, seeing David, training, then repeating the cycle all over again the next day. She had been taking his recommendations -- forcing herself into occasional breathing exercises was surprisingly helpful -- and by the weekend, she had to admit she was actually feeling better.

Tracer had just showered after a workout session and found herself wandering over to the common room to pass the time with a little telly. When she walked in, she found no one but Widowmaker, sitting on the sofa with a tablet. This may have been dubbed the common room, but not many people seemed to treat it as such, especially when Widow was around.

Of course, that had long stopped being a deterrent for Tracer. She sat down on the opposite side of Widow’s sofa instead of the chair across the room this time, hoping she wasn't already infringing on her personal space. Fortunately, the woman didn't even flinch. Tracer grabbed the remote on the table in front of her, flipping through channels as she relaxed into the cushions. There was only so long she could distract herself by running around to the point of exhaustion.

“Feeling better?”

Tracer was surprised Widowmaker had spoken up first. “Yeah, actually. David’s been pretty helpful.”

“Hm.”

It was as much approval as Tracer knew she would get. She considered thanking Widow again for how she had handled the episode, but Widow was a professional, after all. Just maybe a less harsh one than Tracer had anticipated. Either way, she would undoubtedly hate Tracer dwelling on things like this. She stayed quiet, but unexpectedly it was Widow who kept the conversation going.

“Avoiding the training room today?”

“No, I was there earlier. Not really anyone to spar with though, and I guess you're busy.”

“It is a hectic time. I have far too much paperwork and most of our agents have been out in the field or on other bases the past few weeks.”

Tracer had wondered why the halls had seemed so empty. She had also found herself wondering why she hadn't encountered one person in particular.

“Guess that explains me not running into Reyes.” She winced a bit. The discovery of who Reaper really was had never stopped hurting. “What even happened to him?”

“I am not qualified to answer any questions about Reaper.”

“I'd talk to him myself but I obviously haven't seen him at all.”

“He's kept himself busy with his own agenda. But he's seen you.” Tracer raised an eyebrow. “He watched you train that first day. I convinced him not to try to kill you.” Tracer’s face seemed almost… hurt. Widowmaker felt a sudden compulsion to amend her words. “Alright, I suppose he wasn't going to at that point since you were already with us. Not that he was necessarily happy about it, but he respects your skills. Clearly always has.”

Tracer looked at her a bit doubtfully. “I’m not sure it matters. I don't even know who he is anymore. I don't understand anything about what happened.”

“Sometimes it is best that way.”

“Is it?” Tracer bit her lip. “Can I ask you something?”

“You're going to ask it regardless.”

Tracer shrugged sheepishly. “Eh, probably. You don't have to answer but… physically speaking, why did they do what they did to you?”

Widowmaker thought for a moment. “Part of it was practicality. Shooting anything means you need quick reflexes, but unlike someone like you, snipers need to be deathly still between those flicks. A single inhale can throw off a shot. A racing heart can make it impossible to even aim. They made it so that I would hardly need any heartbeats, any breaths. It made me efficient, but more than that, it ensured that I was reliable, and hard to kill.”

Tracer nodded. “And the other part?”

“That’s enough small talk for today. I have an early engagement tomorrow.” Widowmaker abruptly stood. “Our next mission isn't for a while. Keep yourself busy.” She left Tracer on the sofa as she walked out into the hall.

The fatigue of the past week was weighing down on Widowmaker as she made her way to her sleeping quarters and unlocked the door. It was more of a suite than a room, her position allowing her a few nicer things.

Small comfort.

She went to the kitchenette to heat herself water for an herbal tea bag she pulled out of a container. Beyond anything, she simply wanted to drown out the past several days. Of course, most of it had gone well, not that routine solo missions particularly did anything for her moods of malaise. It was just that small things -- unexpected questions, unfortunate experiences -- had been bothering her a little more these days. Tracer’s panic at the outpost had hit the slightest nerve. Widowmaker vaguely remembered what it was like to have a terror she did not want to repeat. And their final conversation tonight had made her feel the slightest bit… off.

She could have easily answered Tracer. It was simple. Amélie had become unnecessary. Widowmaker was stronger, sharper, better in every sense and that made the entire ordeal justified. It was an explanation she had always hung onto, and she would have expressed it.

If only it had felt a bit more true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Godddd life has been a whirlwind. But I've committed to having two particular chapters up for the holiday season so I gotta get this moving along!


	8. Escapade, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now for a two-parter breath of fresh air~

There was a knock. A light. Shuffling. Tracer cracked open an eye to see movement by her bed and the next thing she knew, she felt something weighty drape across her legs.

“Rise and shine,” Widowmaker’s voice crooned from above her. Tracer slowly sat up and tried to focus on the bag Widow was unzipping. Out came a finely pressed tuxedo. “This looks about your size, non? The jacket is a bit looser for your chronal device but I think it should do. There is another outfit in there for the flight over. Try them on.” Widow dropped it back onto the bed.

“Wow, we going to a gala or something?” Tracer found herself suddenly quite awake. For weeks, there hadn't been much change to any of their dull assignments.

“A gala indeed. We need some intel from a German official who will be attending a benefit dinner in his home city. I am a wealthy French donor, and you are my plus one.”

“Wait -- Germany?” Tracer’s eyes lit up.

Widowmaker actually smiled. “We leave for Munich in two hours. Get yourself ready, chérie. This is where the real fun begins.”

\---

Tracer gave herself a once-over in the mirror once she finished rolling up her sleeves. The more casual outfit Widowmaker had brought was still quality: matching grey slacks and vest over a white button-up of the most luxurious cotton Tracer had ever felt. The oxfords she wore were clearly of the finest leather, as were the other shiny black shoes in the box Widowmaker had left at the foot of the bed. Everything fit like a glove, even with the -- albeit slim -- chronal accelerator hidden underneath. Tracer wasn’t sure who had been paying such detailed attention to her sizing but they had done quite a good job.

“Alright, then. I think I’ve got everything.” Tracer reached down to sling her overnight bag onto her shoulder then the tux over her arm. Leaving her room, she walked down the halls towards the common area. As she approached, she found a tall figure with purple hair leaning against the wall in a long-sleeved white blouse and pencil cut trousers. Widowmaker of course… but something seemed different. “Hope I didn’t leave you waiting long.”

Widowmaker looked up and Tracer paused in surprise. Instead of its usual blue, all of her exposed skin looked, well, normal. It took a moment for Tracer to adjust. Widowmaker looked like someone she could have simply passed on the street. Well, a rather striking someone.

“Makeup,” Widowmaker explained, apparently knowing exactly what was going through Tracer’s mind. “Necessary for situations like this where we don't want to attract attention.”

“It’s all… definitely working for you.”

Widowmaker began walking down the hall, Tracer following. “You clean up nice, yourself.”

Widowmaker wasn’t looking at her, which was probably for the best considering Tracer still wasn’t over the whole new look. But that was the most straightforward compliment she had ever heard out of Widow’s mouth, and she couldn’t help a small smile.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” Widowmaker followed up.

Tracer pouted. “Can’t you let a girl live?”

The plane on the runway this time wasn’t their usual. This one looked far more like an elite private jet which explained why they were already dressed to blend in.

Tracer donned her aviators as she took in the sight. “Guess the costume party starts as soon as we step aboard.”

“Indeed. We will land in a private airport where we will be chauffeured to our hotel. I will give you a rundown of the evening then.”

“Chauffeur, eh? This just gets better and better.”

The plane looked even nicer on the inside. Tracer had only been on a jet like this once when the team had flown to Brussels with a couple of European leaders for a commendation ceremony. Of course in her pre-agent days she’d got to fly all sorts of crafts, but sipping champagne as a passenger was a far cry from piloting a fighter jet. An attendant walked up to take their bags.

“Thanks, love.” Tracer continued on, plopping herself onto a seat in front of a screen. Widowmaker tossed her something -- a controller for it she assumed.

“Keep yourself busy. I have some things to look over.” Widowmaker sat down across from her with a tablet in her lap and ear buds in. Tracer could tell she wasn't in the mood to be bothered -- not that she ever was, but Tracer supposed she could try and rein herself in for now. She turned on the screen which was showing some sort of movie. She flipped a channel to the news. Nothing was particularly striking, simply celebrity gossip and the usual depressing goings-on due to social unrest. Tracer switched back to the movie. She wasn't in the mood to be in touch with reality. She hadn't been for a long time, really.

The flight turned out to not be long at all, and Tracer perked up when she felt the slight pressure in her ears as they descended. She peeked out the window, eyes lighting up at the view. “Munich. Looks lovely from up here. Guess it’s one of the cities that fared better during the omnic crises.”

“Lucky them.”

Tracer glanced up at Widowmaker, suddenly aware she knew nothing about Widow’s view on the omnic uprisings. She did remember parts of Paris had suffered a fair amount, and Tracer certainly understood how that felt. But Widow’s work with Talon made everything hazy. They seemed to live for destruction no matter who caused it. Maybe Tracer would find a way to dig more on that topic one day, but she knew now wasn't the time.

Munich called.

Tracer found herself glued to the windows from the plane to the car. She hadn't left London in over a year at this point, excluding the missions that took them out to some neighbouring areas. Even in the waning evening light, the architecture looked wonderfully old and distinguished. It reminded her of parts of Kings Row before the uprising there.

The car stopped in front of a tall, modern building at the corner of a large square. Widowmaker opened the door on her side and stepped out. As soon as Tracer opened her door, an attendant extended a hand to take the bag she was holding in her lap. Once she climbed out with her tuxedo, the woman took that as well. Tracer pegged her as a luggage porter for the hotel.

“Thanks, love. Uh… danke.” It had taken a moment to remember the one word of German Reinhardt had got her to remember.

The luggage porter smiled. “ _Bite_. But you don't have to worry; I speak English.”

“Well that's a relief,” Tracer laughed. “I hardly know a lick of German. Shame on me, I know.” Tracer followed the luggage porter as she pushed the luggage cart into the lobby. Widowmaker was already at the front desk, checking in, presumably. Tracer decided to leave her to it, looking around at the ornate decorations.

“Will you be needing help bringing your luggage to your room?”

“Nah, we'll be fine, thanks, love.” Tracer winked and the luggage porter smiled shyly in return before walking back outside. Tracer turned to the reception desk again to find Widowmaker walking towards her. “Good to go?”

Widowmaker handed her a card. “Our room is on the seventeenth floor. Elevators are in the back. You'll need this to get into both.”

Tracer let Widowmaker lead the way as they headed up to the room. Once there, she pushed open the door to reveal a short entranceway into a finely decorated suite. There were two cream-coloured sofas that looked to be leather and a kitchenette on the right with rich dark wood cabinets. Tracer followed Widowmaker through the living area and into the one bedroom on the left. The bed and its wealth of pillows looked like a dream.

Tracer shook her head. “Wow, this is class.”

“Enjoy it while you can.” Widowmaker lifted her suitcase onto the foot of the bed and opened it. “We likely won't have time to sleep here tonight.”

Tracer pouted, placing her own bag on the bed. “Bummer.”

“Once we get to the gala and find our target, we will need to find his personal affairs. He possesses a planner that should have details of his dealings with buyers. We need to know where he’s been and who he’s been seeing.”

“You think he’ll be carrying that planner around with him?”

“No, of course not. We will have to figure out where he’s staying.”

“Guess it will be a long night.”

“The earlier we get to the gala, the better.” Widow took her dress as well as Tracer’s tuxedo from her arm and hung them up in the closet. “Start getting ready; you can take the bathroom first.”

“I’m on it.” Tracer reached into her bag for her toiletries then headed in. There was a glass enclosure with a rain shower head but also a spa tub next to it. Everything was tiled with genuine stone. “So this is how the one percent live.” Tracer could have spent hours in here. 

“Hurry up, I’m going to need more time in there than you.”

“Alright, alright.”

Widowmaker plopped a bottle of gel down onto the vanity. “And do something about that hair of yours.”

“Oi, what’s wrong with my hair?” Widowmaker just gave her a pointed look. Tracer sighed. “Fine.” She tried to pretend she didn’t sound completely petulant as she shut the door.

Despite herself, Tracer managed a rapid shower, stepping out and towelling off as soon as she could. She secured the towel around her body as she stood in front of the vanity and mulled over what to do with her hair. Perhaps keeping her side part but gelling it back would be enough to look polished. She got to work pouring a copious amount in her palm. A few minutes later, she had managed to at least get her hair smooth and out of her face.

“Almost finished?” came Widowmaker’s muffled voice from the other side of the door.

“I think so,” Tracer called back. “This is probably as good as it’s gonna get, honestly.”

“Let me see.”

Tracer opened the door a crack but Widowmaker pushed it open wider, taking her arm and practically pulling her out of the bathroom. She stopped inches away from Widow’s face as the latter ran critical eyes over her hair. The proximity made Tracer suddenly feel self-conscious. “Uh… good enough?”

Widow cast one last glance over her head. “Mm.” Then she promptly walked into the bathroom with her dress and closed the door behind her.

Tracer let out a breath then rolled her eyes. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes,” she said loudly. The only response was the sound of running water. Tracer walked over to the closet and pulled out her tuxedo, laying it out on the bed. There was the jacket, the pants, the bowtie, the vest, the shirt -- how many layers were there to this thing? She had been too lazy to actually try on the entire outfit that morning. It was going to take her forever to get it all on.

She grabbed her underclothes from her bag and pulled them on, tossing her towel on a chair. Her chronal harness went over her undershirt. Next, she pulled on the trousers -- oh wait, no, the shirt should really go on first. How had they fit so many buttons on here? How were there even so many buttons on the trousers? Did the bowtie go on after the vest or before? After what felt like an age, she finally got everything on, finishing with the jacket.

Tracer went to appraise herself in the full-length mirror on the door and almost didn’t recognise the reflection staring back. The tuxedo was a perfect fit and along with her sleek hair she looked incredibly dapper, if she did say so herself.

She went back to her bag for her Swiss Army knife and the mobile Widow had given her for this mission, both relegated to her inner jacket pocket. Then she pulled out the shoes and put those on too since she had nothing better to do.

Widowmaker was still in the bathroom.

For a while, Tracer tried to busy herself wandering around the suite and wondering how much a room like this cost Talon to reserve. The target must be exceptionally high priority for them to dish out on a posh hotel and jet for a mission that may only take several hours. It must have been crucial to blend in as much as possible.

It was a funny thought, really. Tracer and Widowmaker somehow blending into a high society crowd -- and as a couple no less. It occurred to her how strange it was that Talon thought it was believable. Or, rather, the strange part was that it likely _was_ in fact believable.

Tracer hadn't considered it much recently, but her missions with Widowmaker had become almost effortless, and not just from a technical standpoint. In the beginning, Widowmaker had put her on edge, as much as she had tried to hide it beneath jokes or annoyance. These days, Tracer had stopped feeling apprehensive at all. Even being sent to another country with no one but Widow wasn't the least bit stressful. It was a reality that would have felt impossible mere months ago and yet had developed so seamlessly.

Tracer still wasn't entirely sure what was going on in Widow’s head at any given moment, but fear had stopped factoring in long ago, for a variety of reasons. It was a relief, really, one that Tracer hadn't even realised she'd taken for granted. All she felt right now was excitement at the mission -- and the accompanying impatience.

Once she had wandered about and rechecked her outfit for the umpteenth time, she finally found herself too restless to wait quietly anymore. She went to knock on the bathroom door. “You done yet, love? You've been in there about a year.”

At last, Widowmaker opened the door and emerged from the bathroom. “How do I look?”

Tracer felt her mouth run dry.

Widowmaker’s hair was half pinned in an updo behind a metallic headband, leaving the rest to cascade down her back. Her long-sleeved black dress was floor length, but with an off-the-shoulder cut and plunging neckline that made it less than demure. On top of her coverage makeup, she had added some definition to her eyebrows and put on the best coat of mascara Tracer had ever seen. These all seemed like mere details, but altogether, they made her look unbelievably stunning.

Widowmaker pursed her lips, painted a deep violet. “Are you broken?”

“Ah, sorry -- uh -- yeah, you look decent.” Tracer managed to squeak out the understatement of the millennium.

“‘Decent’.”

“I mean, er,” Tracer felt herself scrambling. She didn’t want Widow to think she was insulting her. “It’s more like, well, you look bloody gorgeous, I guess.” And there her mouth went, unintentionally careening to the other extreme. Widowmaker actually looked amused now and Tracer felt a flush rising to her cheeks. God, she was the worst in the face of pretty women, whoever they were apparently.

To her credit, Widowmaker didn’t dwell on it. “Let’s get going. The event should have just started.” She walked to her small suitcase to take out a pair of heels -- low, Tracer noted with relief -- and quickly slipped into them before heading out of the room. Tracer composed herself and followed through the suite and out into the hall as they headed for the lift. “The event is on the top floor in the ballroom.”

“Right here? Convenient.”

“Doubly so as most guests will also be staying in the hotel. We will be able to get around the rooms quite easily if necessary.”

Immediately upon exiting the lift on the gala floor, they found themselves at the entrance to the ballroom. A security guard stood at the door to whom Widowmaker showed an identification card. “Ah, Frau Duchesne.” He looked down at a screen. “Und… Frau Batchelor. Wilkommen.” The doorman gestured for the two to enter.

Tracer plucked the card out of Widow’s hand as soon as they walked in. “Anne Duchesne, huh? Who am I?”

“My _loving_ girlfriend Lily Batchelor,” Widowmaker replied with dramatic emphasis as she took her card back. “You own a new piloting school in London while my family is simply old money.”

“Where’d we meet?”

“At a fundraiser for rising students in aeronautics. I've always loved the sky and space, so I donate frequently. You were a speaker so excited about your field that I could not help but find you fascinating.”

Tracer was taken aback. “You put a lot of thought into this.”

“Have to make it believable if anyone asks.”

“Hmm. Guess I was a sucker for a smart woman in a nice dress.”

“There you go. Not a stretch for you at all.”

Tracer felt herself redden a bit as she recalled her earlier fumble but Widowmaker turned away before she could see it. Tracer tried to brush off the comment as they kept walking to the bar.

The ballroom was primarily open space with a podium on one end. There were already a fair amount of guests socialising, Tracer taking in the glamorous dresses and suits that were probably each worth more than everything she had ever owned combined. The chandeliers and ornate ceiling looked straight out of a Renaissance painting. She vaguely heard Widowmaker order wine and push a glass into her hand. Tracer looked down at the clear liquid.

“Tonic water,” Widowmaker explained.

“You get wine and I get this?”

“No offense, chérie, but I do not trust your tolerance just yet. And tonight is not the time to test it.”

Tracer pouted, mostly because she couldn't really argue. She took a sip from her glass anyway.

“Madame Duchesne!” The two whirled around into the faces of a smiling man and woman. “Long time no see,” the man continued.

Widowmaker put on the most charming smile Tracer had ever seen her wear. “Ah Laurent, quel bonheur.” She leaned in and they exchanged a kiss on each cheek.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He seemed to have a francophone accent but Tracer couldn't place it.

Widowmaker looked at the woman beside him. “This must be your sister, non? I have heard so much about you.” She took the woman’s hand and they greeted each other with kisses as well. This exchange felt very French.

The woman smiled. “Martine. I hope my little brother has not been teasing me behind my back.” She nudged him.

“Only good things,” Widowmaker assured her. She gestured to her side. “This is my girlfriend, Lily Batchelor.”

Tracer flashed a grin and extended a hand to shake each of theirs. “Pleasure to meet you both.” They nodded, easily smiling back.

Widowmaker took a sip of wine, then set her glass back down onto the counter. “How have things been in Port-au-Prince the past few years?”

 _Haiti_ , Tracer finally realised.

“Going quite well,” Laurent replied. “We received subsidies for the new solar technology and those panels have been worth every penny. Our corner of the island is entering a golden age, I can feel it.”

“Laurent tells me you donated to the organisation that developed them,” Martine jumped in. “Quite the solid investment.”

“I have interests in many places.”

“Wise.” Martine turned to Tracer. “And what is it that you do?”

Tracer froze for a second, scrambling to remember her cover. “I'm, ah, a pilot. I run a piloting school in London.”

“Lovely,” Laurent replied. I have an English friend who works in aeronautics. Have you attended any of the larger conferences?”

“Not yet. We're, ah, on the small side at the moment, but looking to expand soon enough.” Tracer glanced at Widowmaker to make sure she wasn't saying anything incorrect, but then it occurred to her that she must look strangely nervous. “I've never been to any event this big actually -- bit intimidating. Anne is the one with the social graces in our relationship.”

Martine waved it off. “Laurent was even worse when he went to his first banquet.”

“Trahison! You are the one teasing now.” Her brother laughed. “Well, we must make our way around the room. Plenty of people to greet.”

Widowmaker smirked. “And get donations from.”

“Now what would give you that idea?” He winked. “Pleasure to have met you, Ms Batchelor.” His sister echoed the sentiment.

“Likewise.” Tracer smiled as they walked away. She grew a bit more serious when she turned back to Widowmaker. “He said he has a friend in the field. Do you think they'll try to look me up?”

“They may hear of a Lily Batchelor, but it is unlikely they will find her. She is rather reclusive which is why no one knows of her yet.”

“Huh. Is your cover a real person too?”

“No, this is a persona I have created just for occasions like this. I run into them often enough.”

The clinging of metal against glass brought everyone’s attention to a white-haired man at the podium. The crowd began to quiet.

“Franz Des-Prez,” Widowmaker explained in Tracer’s ear. “Local billionaire who funded this event. Good businessman, terrible speaker.”

Sure enough, as soon as he began to talk, Tracer could feel her mind wandering off with the drabness in his tone. She was not going to have the attention span to listen to all of this. “He involved at all with who we're looking for?” she whispered to Widow.

“Unlikely, but of course anything is possible.”

Tracer found her gaze roaming about the guests again, most of whom were watching the speaker even if they looked a bit bored. Many people were here with others, but a few appeared to be on their own, at least for the moment. One was listening, one was looking down at his phone and… looked a little bit too familiar.

Tracer’s eyes widened. “Shite.” She quickly turned away, bringing a hand to her face in an attempt to hide herself.

“What is it?”

“Bloke with the purple handkerchief in his pocket. He's one of the former board directors overseeing Overwatch. We didn't interact a whole lot, but… probably enough for him to recognize me.”

“Ah, bon.” Widowmaker watched the man’s movements from behind her wine glass. “Just act natural.” She paused. “On second thought, perhaps not the best advice for you.”

Tracer made a face at her. 

The speech was dry but fortunately short. After a toast, everyone went right back to their conversations.

Too afraid to turn her face to the crowd again, Tracer absently swirled her tonic water around. “Are we stuck right here the whole night? No other places we need to be looking?”

“I have the best view of the ballroom here, especially of that empty alcove over there.”

Tracer briefly followed her eyes to a sparser area of the room. “Does look like the place for something to go down.”

“Indeed.”

“Think they're here yet? There are a lot of people but you're good at this kind of stuff. I'd have expected you to spot them by now.”

“Perhaps. But I don't know exactly what they look like.”

“Wait, what?”

“Our intel was vague because it came from a source deeply embedded into our target's operations. However, they are here for the sale of some documents and we know the tell they will be using to expose themselves to the buyer. We simply need to wait.”

Tracer sighed. “Name of the game, I guess.” She finished off her tonic water and pushed her glass back to the other side of the counter. She then saw Widowmaker straighten.

“Tiens, tiens.”

Widowmaker’s eyes were fixated on something over her shoulder, but Tracer had enough sense to realise that turning around just then might not be the best idea. “What is it? Find the target?”

“Oh yes. It seems that monsieur purple handkerchief has some secrets he’s been keeping.”

Tracer looked at her in shock. “It’s him? But he… are you sure?”

“Without a doubt. It fits perfectly with our intel. He’s stepping outside with someone now.” Widowmaker caught Tracer as she looked down, crestfallen. “Some people only pretend to be heroes, chérie. But this is no time to dwell. We need to figure out how he got here and where he’s staying.”

Tracer sighed. When she looked up again, she glanced around the ballroom. “Has he been speaking to anybody?”

“I watched him after you mentioned him. He has kept mostly to himself, but he did speak with a few officials in that corner by the bar.”

“Hm.” Tracer looked at them, then at the other guests, then at the security at the door. “I’ve got an idea,” she whispered excitedly. “Wait for me up here -- I’ll be right back.”

Widowmaker opened her mouth to say something but Tracer was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trahison! : Betrayal!  
> Tiens, tiens : Well, well


	9. Escapade, Part 2

Walking out of the ballroom, Tracer tried to act casual as she went to the lift and made for the ground floor. She hoped the person she needed would be easy to find -- she did not need to be making waves right now. The lift doors opened to the lobby and Tracer strode out, eyes alighting on the luggage porter who had helped her earlier. She hurried over. “Hi again, love. I was wondering if you could help me out.”

The woman looked up in surprise and smiled. “Of course.”

“I saw Johann Liszt earlier in the ballroom but I've lost track of him. Man with the purple handkerchief.”

The woman nodded quickly in recognition. “Yes, I know who you mean. Unfortunately, I haven't seen him in the past hour.”

“Oh, that's alright. But I was wondering, did you see whoever he came with? I thought he was supposed to be here with his colleague. Wilhelm, his name is. Certainly he didn’t drive here alone.”

“Oh, he didn’t drive at all ma’am. The only person I saw him with was his pilot when they landed.”

“Well, that’s rubbish. I was really looking forward to seeing Wilhelm more than Johann. He’s a little stuffy and could work on his manners -- but don’t tell him I said that.” Tracer laughed.

The luggage porter cracked a shy smile at that. “I can't blame you, ma'am.”

“He’s a character that man is. Wait, he wasn't rude to you now, was he?” Tracer frowned.

“Oh,” there was a slight flush on her face now, “I'm sure I overstepped earlier. He was in quite a rush when I asked if he had bags to take after he landed upstairs. I must have missed when he said he was too pressed for time to stay at the hotel.”

“Still no reason to be impolite when you’ve been nothing but the opposite, I'm sure. Well, I've got to get back upstairs, but thanks for your help!”

The luggage porter smiled as Tracer ran off.

As soon as Tracer rounded a corner, she raced to the back lift, tapping her card against the security device and pressing the button for the gala floor. Once the doors opened, Tracer’s eyes fell upon Widow who was leaning against the opposite wall. A few people had also drifted outside the ballroom and were standing not far from her.

“Sorry love, Wilhelm isn't here this time.” Widow raised an eyebrow as Tracer took her arm and guided her down a more deserted area of the hallway. “Had to make a up a diversion for my questions. Short story is our target arrived by a jet which dropped him off on the roof. He doesn't have a room because he's leaving right after the gala.”

“We’d better hurry, then. We can take the service lift to the rooftop.” Widow began to walk down the empty hallway then looked down at Tracer. “Quite the information you found there.”

“The luggage porter was nice. She just needed a little laughter to talk.”

Widow’s lips quirked upwards. “‘She’, hmm? That explains it.”

“Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know precisely what that's supposed to mean.”

“You saying I'm good with the ladies?” Tracer grinned. “Well, I've got to take that one as a compliment. Keep ‘em rolling.”

Widowmaker stopped at a nondescript door with a magnetic pad next to it. She placed a small card next to it and a green light appeared, door opening to a short hallway.

Tracer frowned. “Wait, where did you even keep that thing? No pockets on that dress this time.”

Widowmaker tossed her a smirk. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She turned away, walking through the doorway.

Tracer felt some heat rise to her face for yet another time that night. But as she followed, she had to pleasantly note that Widow had been playfully toying with her a lot today. Now that she thought about it, Widow had been in a good mood ever since that morning. Getting away from the monotony of base must be a relief for her easily bored mind. They did have that in common.

They arrived at a lift whose doors opened automatically as they approached. Widowmaker pulled off her headband and looked at it as she pointed it up towards the ceiling. “No one at our stop,” she informed Tracer.

“Sneaky infrared detector?” Widowmaker nodded absently. “You’re full of surprises.”

This lift was plain and white, clearly strictly for service use. It opened up to a small building on the corner of the roof, several small planes visible outside through the windows. They walked until just before the exit of the building, waiting for the lift doors to close so that they could listen for any sounds.

Silence.

“Two of those are cargo planes,” Widowmaker whispered. “That leaves the two closest to us as possibilities.”

“It’s the shiny black one,” Tracer said confidently. “I recognise it from when I met him at an awards ceremony.”

Widowmaker looked at her doubtfully. “One time a decade ago? Are you sure?”

Tracer shrugged with a grin. “I really like planes, remember? I could never forget that beauty.”

Widowmaker seemed to accept that. “Then let’s go.”

They quickly glanced around the tarmac to make sure they were in the clear before rushing over to the plane, Widow amazingly making almost no noise with her heels. Luckily, the door to the craft was unlocked and quiet to open, allowing them to slip inside and close the door after them with no one the wiser.

The plane’s interior was just as classy as the jet the two of them had flown over here with, but was considerably smaller. It seemed their target really did keep it to himself.

Widowmaker held out her hand and Tracer immediately pulled her mobile out of her jacket to hand it over, knowing it was time to get to work.

“We need to check this entire craft. You start here, I'll start there, and we'll work our way around.” Widowmaker walked to the back row.

“Got it.” Tracer got busy scanning her side of the jet, opening compartments, digging between seat cushions, and kneeling on the floor to see if she could spot anything unusual. She wound up at the small kitchen area in the back of the plane, doubting that anything sensitive would be stored here, but deciding it was worth checking anyway. Unsurprisingly, she couldn't find a thing. Once she'd double checked Widow’s side, Widow was almost done doing the same with hers. Lena sat on a seat for a while, gears turning in her mind as she waited hopefully.

At last, Widowmaker stood with a heavy sigh. “His planner isn’t here. If we can’t find a backup of it somewhere, this mission is going to be a complete failure.”

Tracer looked around the cabin until her eyes alighted on the door to the cockpit. “You said this is his personal jet right? So he’d take it practically anywhere?” Widowmaker nodded absently. “Would getting a list of his recent locations help?”

This time, Widowmaker looked at her with interest. “Yes. Why?”

Tracer smiled, crooking a finger for Widowmaker to follow her as she walked into the cockpit. She knelt next to the pilot’s seat and pulled out her Swiss Army knife, using its tiny screwdriver on a panel beneath the dash. Removing it exposed a series of wires that she began searching through. Within a minute of rearranging some of them, the lights in the cockpit came on.

Widowmaker looked up in surprise. “What are you doing?”

“I just rerouted the backup power to the electronics in here. Won’t start the engines, but it will show us what we need.” Tracer now looked at the screen in front of the pilot’s seat, pressing a couple of the options on it. “Planes have had digital navigation recording for a long time, even if most people don’t know where to find the logs. Lucky for you, you’ve got an expert on your hands.” She entered a series of zeroes in a field on the screen. “People should really start changing these default passwords.” At last, a map appeared, with a list of locations below. “Aha! There you have it.”

Widowmaker looked over her shoulder at the screen and raised her eyebrows in -- impressed? -- surprise. “Génial.”

It made Tracer grin. “Hey, I can be useful sometimes.”

“I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” There was the slightest smile on Widowmaker’s lips as she snapped a picture of the log.

“Guess it's a good thing I was talented enough for you to not want to lose your best challenge.”

“‘Best’, hmm?” Widowmaker handed Tracer the mobile again, which the latter returned to her jacket pocket. “Quite the ego, you have there, chérie.”

“You didn't say I was wrong, love.” Tracer shot back with a smirk. She caught Widow’s golden eyes almost twinkling. It was the most non-negative emotion she'd ever seen from her. It gave Tracer a bit of a thrill.

The faint sound of a conversation drifted in from outside on the tarmac. Both froze, turning to the door.

“Time to go,” Widowmaker murmured.

“Sounds like it.” Tracer bent down again to replace the wires she had moved. Instantly the lights in the cockpit went out. “Alright, let's get out of here.”

The two returned to the main cabin, Widowmaker peeking outside a window. “They're walking to the opposite side of the jet. They won't see us coming through the door.”

Tracer followed Widowmaker out and down the small flight of steps onto the landing pad. They glanced around to make sure they were out of line of sight before rushing towards the corner building with the lift. Fortunately, the car was still on this floor, allowing them to slip inside and be hidden before anyone could catch a glimpse of them.

Tracer leaned against the back wall as soon as the doors closed. “Whew, we actually got it done.”

“It almost couldn't have gone better,” Widowmaker admitted. “We didn't even need to pull out the firepower.”

“How dull.”

Widowmaker glanced at Tracer. It sounded like something she'd say to mock Widow’s tendencies, but her expression looked completely serious. Until she noticed the gaze on her.

“Well, I mean, having all this done and going back to base already is kind of disappointing, you’ve gotta admit.”

Widowmaker wasn't sure about that deflection but she let it slide. “We will need to leave relatively soon, but I suppose it would not hurt to stay longer since we did not physically take anything. As long as we stay out of his way, watching more of our target’s movements might be worth it.”

“And sampling some of those hors d'oeuvres.”

“Always the professional, you.”

The halls were still empty when the two made their way back to the main elevator, Tracer hitting the button for the ballroom floor. It opened to surprising dimness; the ballroom beyond looked dark.

“Huh. There a show or something?”

“Of sorts.”

Walking in, the room was full of couples swirling in time with classical music playing from the back. Tracer’s eyes landed on the string quartet that had set up on the stage. “Guess a swanky night wouldn’t be complete without a good ballroom dance.” Looking over at her companion, Tracer offered a hand and grinned suavely. “Shall we, madame?”

“If we must.” But Widow hardly seemed opposed as she placed a delicate hand into Tracer’s and rested the other on her shoulder. They waited a moment for a downbeat, and then off they went.

Tracer’s eyes flitted around the room as they glided across the floor. Widowmaker was, unsurprisingly, better at waltzing than she was, and so her mind wandered as she allowed herself to be led in circles. She was hoping to get a good look around as well; the low lights would help keep her inconspicuous but she still wanted to see if she could find Liszt and avoid his general direction.

“Back of the bar.”

Clearly, Widowmaker had been doing the same. Tracer looked over and sure enough, spotted him leaning over a glass at the counter. “Looks alone again.”

“Perhaps his extracurricular activities have been wrapped up for the night.”

Tracer returned her eyes to Widow who was taking in the scene around them. It was more and more looking as though their duties here were over, but Widowmaker didn’t appear bothered at all. With her calm face it seemed as though she were in a better mood than ever -- even if on someone like Widow, that came across as rather tame. Anything besides sullenness was rather remarkable.

“Our jobs have been pretty smooth lately,” Tracer pointed out. “You sure you’re not bored? Feeling an itch?”

Widowmaker met her gaze, a bit more sober now. Her eyes glimmered in the soft lights as they danced by, golden and thoughtful. “Keeping up with you is more than enough challenge for me at the moment.”

“I’d hate to be too much for you, love.” Tracer recognised that some of that ‘keeping up’ was likely due to her mental difficulties a few weeks ago and so the words were more serious than she wished they had to be. Whatever her impression of Widowmaker had been, she couldn’t think of a better way that anyone could have handled her at those worst points. Tracer felt lucky that it had been her around, as crazy as it was to say.

“Well, if you ever are, I promise to ensure you make it up to me.”

The implication that she hadn’t been a burden so far felt freeing in a way that Tracer hadn’t expected. Her lips briefly twitched into a smile before she scrunched her brow and nodded in faux solemnity. “Understandable. Can’t have agents running around without consequences.”

“It seems as though you look forward to them the way you run headlong into things.” Widow raised a pointed eyebrow.

“Nothing like a little brush with disaster to feel alive.”

Widowmaker’s eyes narrowed for a split second before she looked up and past Tracer. “There goes our mark.”

Tracer turned her head to see Liszt walking out of the ballroom. She turned back to Widowmaker questioningly. “Follow?”

“Let’s try our luck.” Widowmaker let go of Lena and the two stepped apart, winding their way through the crowd back to the door. Outside, she paused and glanced around. “The elevators are still on this floor so he must have gone down one of the halls.” She went off towards the area they had walked down earlier and stopped again at the corner.

“See him?”

Widowmaker nodded. “He just turned off somewhere.” She rounded the corner and Tracer followed. The next turn was an empty hallway, but there were no doors here so Liszt had certainly continued on. They kept going, but paused halfway to the next corner.

“Think he’s meeting with someone else?” Tracer whispered.

“I’m not sure, but I have a feeling it might be too risky to find out.”

Widow was probably right. Even now, they were exposed in this long corridor. Widowmaker pulled off her headband to look through the wall of the corner, but then replaced it just as quickly and swivelled towards her.

“What--” Tracer cut off abruptly as Widowmaker took her by the shoulders and pinned her against the wall. Widow planted one hand by her head while the other took hers and set it on a smooth, silken waist. Impossibly close, Tracer couldn’t see anything besides Widow’s lipsticked mouth at eye level and was too disoriented to do anything at all. “Erm--”

A cold finger on Tracer’s lips silenced her. She slowly looked up to find the intensity in Widow’s eyes only reinforcing the implicit command. The cool hand then loosened to slightly cup the side of her face. Between it and her arm, Tracer couldn’t see anything of the hallway in her periphery. She realised that perhaps hiding her features was the point. Approaching footsteps and a male voice that sounded vaguely familiar echoed down the corridor and confirmed as much. Tracer felt her heart rate pick up. Widowmaker shifted a bit and Tracer instinctively lifted another hand to her hip. She wasn’t sure exactly how…  _ convincing _ Widow wanted to be, but this much seemed safe.

As their guest approached further, Widowmaker dipped and tilted her head slightly, foreheads, noses, lips nearly touching. Tracer’s eyes widened and she had to force herself not to move. This was… definitely an extra touch of convincing. All Tracer felt on her mouth were Widow’s shallow breaths, but she, on the other hand, couldn’t breathe right now to save her life.

The footsteps paused only a couple of metres away. Tracer’s hold on Widow tightened. Widow hummed a bit, a curious noise that was yet another part of the act of course, but Tracer couldn’t help but wonder if it could ever be honest in another context.

There was a surprised clearing of a throat… and then the footsteps continued on down the hall, leaving the two of them behind. Once they had sufficiently faded, Widowmaker lifted her head again.

Tracer tried not to be terribly obvious about the giant breath she took. “That was him wasn’t it?” Her query came out as a whisper.

“Yes. Alone, so certainly just on a phone call.” Widowmaker turned her face towards the direction in which he'd gone. “Sounds like he may have stepped into the elevator now.”

“Guess we should, er,” Tracer swallowed, trying to find her voice again, “quit while we’re ahead.”

Widowmaker faced her, looking down at her for what felt like a little too long. “I suppose we should.”

She dropped her hands and backed away at last, allowing Tracer to let out a full exhale of relief. Yes, that’s certainly the emotion that was. Relief.

As Widowmaker turned and walked down the hall, Tracer caught her fingers fisting in her dress for a moment before flexing and returning to her side. That had been the hand on Tracer’s cheek. The action seemed nervous. Had this attempt at a diversion made her uncomfortable? Tracer admittedly couldn't imagine Widowmaker’s relationship with personal contact. She had a feeling that the idea of keeping people at a distance extended to more than just emotions and her preferred method of shooting.

Widowmaker whirled around towards her. “Are you coming?”

“Right!” Tracer leapt off the wall and quickly caught up. Once they reached the elevator, it had nearly made it back to their floor. Their only stop from here would surely be their room to pick up their things before returning to the plane, but Tracer could accept the end of the field trip this time. They had overstayed their mission long enough, and at this point, she couldn't complain.

\---

As soon as they climbed into the jet headed back to London, Tracer entirely knocked out. For all she knew, the trip took five minutes when she felt Widowmaker nudge her awake as they landed. Wearily, she followed Widowmaker down to the lift where she hit the button for the main floor. Tracer stepped out when the doors opened, but noticed Widowmaker staying behind. She turned around curiously.

“Debriefing with Orona,” Widowmaker explained even as the doors were closing. “I will handle it.”

Tracer didn’t have time to reply before Widowmaker was whisked off to the top floor.

She headed to the training room to replace some of the extra pistol cells she had brought just in case, then headed to her room -- but didn’t go inside yet. She paused, leaning against the wall as she wondered how the debriefing was going. Widowmaker should be walking by here to reach her own suite once it was over, and despite her assurances, Tracer wanted to be sure the mission was considered a success. They hadn't found what they had been originally sent for, after all, and who knew if Orona would be a stickler about that? Tracer needed a real success to not be on her bad side.

She had almost nodded off when she heard the click of heels approaching, finally seeing Widowmaker turn the corner with her eyebrows raised.

“Not waiting for me, I hope.”

“Ah, sort of. Just wanted to know how Orona felt about the mission.”

Widowmaker’s lips twitched upwards in satisfaction. “She was impressed; there was far more information in that log than we could ever have hoped for.”

Tracer brightened. “So does that mean more exotic missions?”

“Hmm, one can hope. But first, you have earned some downtime.” Widowmaker turned away, but then looked back briefly. “Good work.” Then she continued along her way.

Tracer felt an irrepressible smile growing on her face, amplified by the lingering adrenaline high from the séjour. She watched as Widowmaker walked down the hall, catching one last glimpse of her elegantly gowned figure before she turned a corner. At last, Tracer opened the door to her room.

Being back was certainly not as exciting as being undercover in Germany, but as soon as she walked in, Tracer couldn’t deny that the prospect of several hours’ sleep was suddenly far more enticing. She closed the door behind her and walked to her bed, dropping her jacket on top of it.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

Tracer whirled around with a jump, finding a woman with brown and purple hair sitting on top of her dresser. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

“Ah, I forgot we’ve never met face to face -- or at least, you've never seen mine. Sombra. The name might ring a bell.”

Tracer flashed back to her Overwatch days. “Does it ever,” she muttered.

“My reputation precedes me. Well, since we work for pretty much the same people now, I thought I'd drop in and say hi. It's good to have a friend around here.” Sombra smiled but Tracer couldn't tell if it was genuine.

“I didn't exactly come here expecting to make friends.”

“And yet now you have two.” Sombra hopped down from the dresser and put her arm around Tracer’s shoulders. “Widow certainly likes having you around, but she's no fun sometimes. Maybe the two of us should do something -- go out, grab a drink, get to know each other. We could talk about girl things, you know? Makeup and guns and crushes… perhaps even the little spider that's caught your eye.”

Tracer’s eyes widened. “Oh, sod off!” She shoved Sombra’s arm from around her.

“Aww, it's nothing to be ashamed of. You should know I make it a point to read the people around me and you're an open book I'm afraid, walking in here like Widowmaker just dropped you off after a date.” Sombra fluttered her eyelashes at Tracer’s reddening face.

“You’re absolutely mental if you’re really seeing it like that.”

“Hmm. Well, one way or another, surely you have some questions after all this time. About what's going on inside her head? What's in her past? Maybe even about what happened to Gabe.”

Tracer froze, not having expected that turn in the conversation. Did Sombra actually have all that history? The possibility that she could say the word and know everything there was about these two mysteries was a power she'd never expected to have.

But... it wasn't really power, was it? Sombra didn't seem like she did things for pure charity and Tracer wasn't in the mood to give up yet another piece of her soul. In the end, it felt cheap to find it all out like this anyway. No, if she was going to find out secrets, it would be through her own means.

“Sorry, not interested in what you're selling, love. And I'd kind of like to get some rest now.” Tracer walked over to the door and opened it pointedly.

Sombra shrugged and made her way out to the hallway. “Suit yourself. If you ever change your mind, you know where to find me.” She stopped and turned right in front of Tracer’s face and booped her on the nose. “Mm, or not.” With that, Sombra vanished.


	10. Attraction

_Downtime ends tonight. Mission at 2300._

Tracer set down her communicator, looking forward to having something to do after twiddling her thumbs for a couple of weeks. Tracer had long ago learned that ‘downtime’ meant she was off-duty while Widowmaker did whatever it was she did. Part of her wondered if they were missions she wasn't wanted on, but another part knew Widowmaker wouldn't tolerate such a boring thing as a vacation to begin with. In any event, she would be back tonight for their next job, which would hopefully go at least half as well as the last. Tracer couldn't help but smile a bit again at Widowmaker's actual, honest-to-god compliment the last time she'd seen her.

And then Sombra’s face popped up in her memory.

Tracer grimaced. She was still a bit put off by that surprise visit. Of course, she had never been blind to the fact that Widowmaker was quite gifted in the looks department, she just hadn’t let herself dwell on it much before. But being together for an undercover mission, Tracer hadn’t had much else to think of. Especially after seeing her in that dress. Tracer sighed. She’d always been a bit weak when it came to beautiful women. It didn’t really mean much beyond the fact that Widowmaker happened to be one of them. It certainly wasn’t some sort of _crush_. Tracer cringed at the word. She had admittedly been lonely for some time now, but she wasn't _that_ desperate. Tracer didn't have a death wish. She winced. Well, not anymore.

She picked up her workout clothes and donned them, ready to take out her boredom on a few bots in the training room. She’d be entirely ready for their mission tonight, and would make sure to be as effective as ever. Being on Widow’s good side seemed a safe place to want to stay.

And maybe even a pleasant one, it turned out.

\---

Widowmaker’s bleary eyes blinked at the locker before her, the combination lock quite difficult to open after a forty-eight hour mission and only four hours of sleep to recover. She had returned to base just that afternoon incredibly worse for the wear and wanted nothing more than for all of her duties to be over already. The past couple of days had taken a lot out of her despite being no different than her usual solo assignments.

The lock finally slid open and Widowmaker began pulling out her gear. At least she had a bit of quiet to get her thoughts in order before having to brave the London club scene.

“Oh, look who's back.”

Widowmaker was too tired to resist a groan at Sombra’s voice. “Please, have mercy tonight.”

“Eh, I guess I can spare you. Seriously, I'm only here to pick up some of my stuff.” Sombra strode to her locker which opened at the mere brush of her hand. Sometimes, Widowmaker envied those skills. “Missions went well, I take it?”

“I suppose. I hope Tracer is more ready than I am to be on yet another one.”

“Oh, I'm sure she is.”

The tone sounded loaded. “Has she been causing trouble?” Perhaps leaving Tracer bored hadn’t been the brightest idea.

“No, she's been on model behaviour, actually. She was just so thrilled after your last one, I figured she couldn't wait for you to be back.”

Widowmaker frowned, a couple of oddities sticking out, but she focused on the most concerning one. “You spoke with her?”

“Just a little chat after your return from Munich. She didn't trust me at all which means she's way smarter than you made her out to be. She's also pretty cute.” She looked up to catch Widowmaker’s glare and put up her hands in defence. “Hey, I won't touch her. I'm just saying. You could probably go for it though; she definitely has a thing for femmes fatales if the looks she gives you are any indication.”

Widowmaker’s glower worsened. “That is the worst joke to ever come out of your mouth.”

“Oh, you think I'm joking? Her reaction when I brought it up was all the answer I needed.”

“If Tracer has some sort of ‘thing’ then she's even more stupid than I originally thought.”

“Ay, chica, it’s not like she's proposing, she just gets flustered by a pretty face. I bet she could put on quite a show around you if you have some fun with it. Thought you liked seeing people squirm.” Sombra shut her locker, finishing putting stuff away in her bag.

That was occasionally true. Widowmaker was used to people indicating some sort of physical attraction to her, and she could never care less. But the fact that it might be Tracer was certainly a twist. Maybe she could wind the girl up a little and give her a taste of her own occasionally frustrating medicine. “I'll keep it in mind.”

Sombra smiled as she walked away. “You're welcome.”

\---

The night was cold as Tracer and Widowmaker walked down cobblestone streets. Their destination was a fair walk from the drop-off point and Tracer couldn’t say she was a fan of the clammy air tonight.

There wasn’t much to distract from it, however, Tracer casting Widowmaker a pensive look. The sniper was in a quiet mood today, bordering on distant. She wasn’t usually talkative on a mission but hardly anything had come out of her mouth so far.

“You alright? You look a little under the weather.”

“I am fine.” But Widowmaker’s voice was flat and not as firm as it should have been.

“Rough missions?” Widowmaker didn’t reply this time. Tracer generally assumed that her tasks were on the lethal end of things and that she needed them to feel satisfied. Had her solo assignments been going poorly? But it wouldn't be in character for her to fail in so many either. It seemed as though her time away had somehow drained her instead whereas their last mission together had left her in a better mood than Tracer had ever seen.

A sudden breeze blew through, Tracer’s loose blazer flapping against her button-down shirt, and her thoughts brusquely returned to the present. The extra layer was certainly helping, but it was odd to have her chronal accelerator beneath her clothes and she still missed her warm RAF jacket. She rubbed her hands together as another stronger gust whipped around them. Widowmaker shivered next to her.

Wait… _shivered_?

“You cold?”

“What?” Widowmaker sounded incredibly offended. “Of course not.”

“Alright, alright.” She wasn't sure why that was a touchy subject. “Well, I am, so I really hope we're close.”

“The door is right around the corner.”

As they approached, Tracer felt an odd feeling of familiarity. She knew this street, and she thought she might know this place as well… Her heart sank. She realised exactly where she remembered it from.

Suddenly, the mission wasn't that appealing anymore.

Tracer reluctantly, but dutifully, followed Widowmaker inside the club, immediately assaulted by loud music and coloured spotlights. They wove their way through the crowd and finally stopped at a bar in the back and sat down on the stools.

The bartender looked up at them as she pulled out a couple of glasses. “What can I get you?”

Tracer glanced at Widowmaker. “Am I allowed to buy a drink this time?”

Widowmaker shrugged. “Might as well blend in.”

“I'll take a gin and tonic. You want one?”

But Widowmaker wasn't even paying attention to her anymore, looking around the room. She suddenly descended from the stool. “I'll be back.”

Tracer didn't bother to ask where she was going -- it was doubtful she'd get an answer anyway. The dismissal wasn't unexpected, and yet it was bugging her right now.

_Because you kind of don't want to be here._

Lena tried to stop her thoughts before she could think about why. Instead, she returned her attention to her drink, savouring the cool burn down her throat. She didn't even notice how fast it went down until it was all gone. She set the glass back down on the counter.

“Another?”

Tracer glanced uncertainly up at the bartender, then to either side to make sure there was no sign of Widowmaker.

At last she sighed. “Yeah, what the hell.” In Overwatch, Tracer wouldn't have dared drink on the job. Captain Amari in particular seemed almost superhuman when it came to smelling alcohol on someone -- instincts of a mother who'd brought up a daughter through teenage years, Tracer suspected. But here with Talon, it was all the rebellion she could afford.

She looked around at the dance floor bordered by sofas and roped off VIP spots. There were all sorts here when it came to style, but they were all young and somehow still trendy. Expensive. It was the kind of place rich young people frequented to feel bohemian, so not Tracer’s preferred setting. Especially when considering the fact that many here were very obviously couples, or at least people looking for someone to have a good time with.

And there was the problem. Lena had once treated Emily to a fun night out at this very place. She had been thrilled, of course, and Lena always loved seeing Emily happy. But she had arranged the outing knowing things would soon have to come to an end, and so part of the night had felt dim for her. Painful. Tracer turned to her drink again, which had been refilled.

“Is this seat taken?”

Tracer looked over in surprise to find a woman standing by the empty stool next to her, opposite of where Widow had been. “No, by all means.” She watched the woman sit down, clothed in a well-fitted strapless dress that even in the dimness looked like it cost a pretty penny. Her tight curls bounced luxuriously across her collarbone. Everything about her screamed classy and Tracer suddenly found herself feeling even more self-conscious, but at least it was a distraction from earlier thoughts. She tried to look busy by nursing her drink.

“White Russian,” the woman called to the bartender. She sat with one hand playing with the -- short -- hem of her dress until her glass was brought out to her. She then turned a bit towards Tracer, leaning an elbow on the bar and taking a brief swig of her drink. “Never seen you round these parts. First time here?” The girl tilted her head, brushing her hair back and exposing her neck and shoulders to the blue-green lights above them.

Tracer wasn’t blind to the fact that the woman was being quite deliberate in her actions and knew what kind of effect she was hoping to have. Tracer hated to admit that it was rather working. “Second. But this kind of place isn’t usually my scene, to be honest.”

“More the laid-back pub type, are you?” She smiled knowingly, which made her seem less intimidating.

“Guilty as charged.” Tracer couldn’t help but smile back.

“So what brings you over here?”

“Tagged along with someone else. She's doing who knows what, hopefully having more fun than I am.” Her words sunk in and she internally panicked, trying to amend her meaning in case it had been taken the wrong way. “Well, until you got here of course.” Her trademark grin received an amused one in response. Tracer was kicking herself. _From insulting to outright flirtatious. Would she ever learn?_

“All it takes is having a friend for the night, right? Makes all the difference.”

Something told her this woman wasn't quite looking for a _friend._

“That your girl over there?” The woman nodded towards a vague place over Tracer’s shoulder. Tracer turned around to see Widowmaker standing by the back hallway talking to someone.

“Oh, no.” Tracer turned back around. “No, she's just my, er, roommate.”

“Ah.” The girl reached out, ostensibly to straighten the lapel of Tracer’s blazer. “You sure? Because I would hate to do something she wouldn't approve of.”

Tracer felt her heart rate pick up as the woman leaned in, tugging a little on her jacket. “She doesn't approve of anything.”

“That's too bad.” She dropped her eyes to Tracer’s lips then closed the distance to press her own against them.

A chill ran up Tracer’s spine as she cautiously responded to the kiss. It was strange to feel so uncertain; once upon a time, she had been the one who initiated opportunities like these. But those times had disappeared with Emily and once she’d had to go into hiding. Now, she almost felt out of her depth. But she took a deep breath, steeling herself, and kissed back with an intensity that made the hand on her jacket tighten. She slid her hand around the woman’s neck to keep her close. She had forgotten what it felt like to want and be wanted like this. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it.

She hadn’t realised how much her body had missed it as well. Tracer found herself wishing for the weather outside as her skin burned up with the heat from the alcohol and the woman in front of her. Her mouth was so terribly soft, the hint of her tongue hot against Tracer’s bottom lip. She certainly knew what she was doing.

Tracer glided light fingers across her collarbone and the woman slid a bit closer. Tracer inhaled sharply as a hand landed on her thigh. The other hand released her blazer to settle underneath her chin for a moment. The fingers then slowly trailed down her neck towards…

_Oh no._

“Time to go.”

Tracer jumped away at the loud voice in her ear. She had entirely forgotten where she was -- and what was underneath her shirt -- until the last second. Widowmaker was standing next to her looking none-too-amused, but at this point, Tracer could only feel relief at her timing.

Tracer licked her lips and rubbed the back of her neck nervously as she looked at the woman. “Ah… sorry, I can't really stay.”

The woman sighed but relented, pulling her hands away. “You did warn me.” She took her glass and held it up for a moment. “Cheers, love.”

“Cheers.” Tracer gave her a mock salute as she descended from the stool, then followed Widowmaker out.

The night was cool and quiet compared to the chaos inside of the club. Tracer exhaled deeply.

“Does every English person say that?” Widowmaker’s voice was disdainful.

“You didn't have to give her a glare that scalding.”

“Perhaps it was more meant for you. If it's for information then fine, but this is a job, not a pleasure trip.”

“Oh, as if I could enjoy anything in my position. I might as well be wearing a bloody chastity belt around my chest. You even have any idea what that's like?” Tracer sounded unexpectedly bitter.

“The price of survival,” Widowmaker replied evenly, trying to dismiss what was potentially becoming a drunken ramble.

“Survival, hah! Yeah that's what it is. For what? _Lena_ never would have thought this was worth it. No, they just had to make me Tracer.”

This time, Widowmaker frowned. “We did not make you anything.”

“I'm not talking about Talon. Overwatch. My priorities they… changed. For the better, I thought. But then I became this. Well, something in my head got fucked right up along the way.”

Was that what this was about, so far into her time here? How tiring. “Are you going to keep whining about how you regret your decision to join Talon every few months?”

“I don't regret it,” Tracer replied bluntly. “That’s the problem.”

Widowmaker was quiet for a moment, giving Tracer a thoughtful look. “Survival,” she finally repeated.

“Yeah. And something to actually do with my bloody life.”

Widow found herself yet again caught off-guard by the candid response. She had assumed that Tracer saw this as no more than a means to a longer lifespan, but it sounded as though what she did didn't torment her as much as the fact that part of her perhaps liked doing it -- it had even been evident on their last mission hadn't it? Tracer was right; the Lena Widow had understood would have never felt that way. She had surprised even herself.

“I understand.” Tracer looked up at Widowmaker sceptically. “It's not about good or bad. It's just about what you crave.” Tracer looked away, clearly still having a hard time accepting that. Widow sighed. “But I suppose you're going to keep being dramatic about it until further notice.”

To Widowmaker’s relief, Tracer kept to herself once they reached their ride back to base. When they stepped out, Widow led them straight to the lift. Tracer squinted at the bright light as they stepped inside.

Widowmaker pressed the button for Orona’s office. “She is expecting us.” Then she glanced to her side and rolled her eyes, facing Tracer to adjust her collar. Her thumb came up to rub at the side of Tracer’s lips and came out purple. “You look like you had too much fun.”

“Not nearly enough.”

“I beg to differ.” Widowmaker stepped away, looking out as the lift doors opened. “Try not to act like you just got drunk on a job,” she muttered under her breath.

Tracer followed Widowmaker into Orona’s office, trying to act as calm as possible. Orona always set her on edge, and that was only being amplified in her current state. Fortunately, Tracer remained silent in her corner and Orona didn't say a thing to her. Tracer was beginning to drift off into her own thoughts when words began to register.

“Keep an eye on our informant. If he does go through with the extraction, he and his partner could be rivals to us, considering the bombing they were already behind. Whatever they do cannot be traced back to what we gave them.”

“Understood.” Widowmaker took Orona’s nod as dismissal and turned on her heel back towards the lift. At last, she could take the rest of the night to finish reading some intelligence reports for their other tasks this week. And then she could finally, _finally_ get some sleep.

Widowmaker didn't think to glance at Tracer until the lift reached the main floor and they began to walk out. She didn’t look happy. She’d looked less and less happy ever since they’d left that club, but it was even worse now. For once, Widowmaker wasn’t the one more irritated of the two. Now that she thought about it, it was almost… refreshing. She thought Tracer rather deserved it for that stunt.

Widowmaker stepped into the common room and sat down with her tablet. Tracer had followed her, not unusual as she often flipped through the channels to pass the time. Perhaps it would help her cool off.

The door closed. Tracer stood by it, faced her, and crossed her arms.

Clearly, cooling off was too much to hope for.

“What was Orona talking about up there?”

“What does it matter to you if you couldn’t be bothered to pay attention?”

“Did you sell information that could be used for a bombing?”

Widowmaker shrugged. “What they do with it isn’t our problem. We needed what they gave us and this was a worthwhile trade.”

Lena’s eyes were angry. “Worthwhile? You call fuelling that kind of terrorism worthwhile?”

“Not sure what you expected, chérie. Unless you want to bring it up to Orona yourself, I suggest you drop it.” Widowmaker couldn’t help a slight smugness to her tone. Tracer always backed off these days when conversations came to a point like this. She would never mess with Orona, but there was only so far she pushed with even Widowmaker.

Tracer indeed paused and seemed to give up. But then her frown deepened. “I’m _not_ dropping this.”

Her voice was surprisingly firm. Widowmaker began to wonder if she were going to regret baiting her. Perhaps she had underestimated just how big an offence this was in her mind.

Sure enough, there Tracer went, off on a rant. Widowmaker couldn't believe she'd thought she could out-annoy Tracer. The girl was simply unparalleled.

“Listen,” Widowmaker relented in a hushed tone. Tracer silenced. “I did not hand over the information to him. I gave him a decoy memory chip because he pissed me off by not knowing to keep his hands to himself last time we ran into each other. Orona does not know so do _not_ tell anyone.”

Tracer froze in total surprise. “I… I thought for sure you…” She trailed off for a moment, and Widow felt relief at the quiet, returning to her tablet. But then Tracer’s voice returned full-blast. “Why didn't you say so? I've been standing here thinking up all sorts of horrible scenarios and you couldn't just tell me?”

“I've told you now, end of story.”

“Not good enough! You can't just hide things like that!”

Widowmaker rubbed at her temples. Tracer was terribly agitated and Widowmaker couldn't begin to fathom why it was escalating to this point -- besides the fact that she had got piss drunk. All she knew was the girl was going to drive her insane. “It's over. Let it go, pour l’amour de dieu.”

“Really? After all this I'm supposed to just be calm about it?”

Widowmaker gritted her teeth. “Shut. Up.”

“Make me.”

Widowmaker dropped the tablet onto the sofa and looked at Tracer, whose eyes were flashing with challenge above flushed cheeks. Widowmaker rose and slowly made her way over, taking in the aggressive stance and slightly heavy breathing. Something beyond their conversation was getting her worked up, perhaps subconsciously -- and thinking back to the club, it finally occurred to Widow what that might be. Sombra’s words from earlier echoed in her mind.

“You know,” Widowmaker began with a softer tone, “sometimes when I'm around you, I get this…”

Tracer frowned. “What?”

“This… urge.” Widowmaker placed herself right into Tracer’s personal space, watching her eyes widen the slightest bit, her cheeks get even redder.

“What kind of urge?” Tracer’s voice was suddenly a bit unsteady.

Widowmaker tapped her fingers against Tracer’s hidden chronal accelerator and slowly dragged them up to the neckline of her shirt. “Something so… primal, I hardly know how to resist.” Tracer’s eyes were noticeably darker by the time Widowmaker’s cool fingertips brushed across the skin of her collarbone. Oh, she was very worked up indeed. _Fascinating_.

“So why… why do you?”

“Talon would frown on it, sadly,” Widowmaker calmly explained as she moved her hand up a little higher, leaning her head in closer.

“Because we work together?” Tracer breathed.

“Because they get very angry when I _kill_ my co-workers.” Widowmaker’s tone was sharp as nails once more and her hand squeezed Tracer's neck the slightest bit for a second, just to get the message across.

Tracer’s eyes were wide as saucers this time and she froze entirely. Her face was a panicked mix of fear but also… wow, this girl was truly hopeless. _Incroyable_. Widowmaker rolled her eyes and backed away. “I'd better not hear a single word out of you until our next mission, or I promise you I will do something you won't actually enjoy.” With that, she went back to snatch up her tablet, then walked past Tracer and opened the door to go out into the hall. That would certainly give that girl something to chew on.

She was halfway to her room when she heard a familiar sound behind her.

“How's the recruit?”

Widowmaker was not in the mood for conversation, but nevertheless, she stopped and turned to face the owner of the unmistakable raspy voice. “Annoying.”

“I meant--” Reaper broke off. “What's wrong with your face?”

“What do you mean what is wrong with my face?” Widowmaker was getting very tired of everyone harassing her.

“It's a little… pink.”

“Quoi?” She reached up a hand to touch her cheek. Her body temperature never _ever_ fluctuated, but her skin there was almost… warm.

“Please don't tell me you're blushing.” Reaper sounded like the mere idea made him want to vomit a little.

Widowmaker, frankly, felt rather the same. “I am not… blushing!” The very word was disgusting. “I am _livid_. This stupid waif of a girl thinks she has licence to do and say whatever she pleases with complete disregard for anyone else, _especially_ me. Who does she think she is en train de m’agacer jour et nuit comme si je vis que pour l'entendre piailler? Comme si j'ai rien d'autre à faire que de subir ses plaintes complètement _nulles_? Cette espèce de peste peut me ficher la paix!” She paused. “How much of that was in English?”

If Reaper had had a face to speak of, she would bet her rifle that it was quite unamused at the moment.

And she would have kissed it goodbye, because the next words out of his mouth were almost laughing. “You don't even whip out that much French when you're complaining about Sombra. Guess Tracer really is giving you a run for your money.” He let out some semblance of a chuckle and walked away.

“Please tell me you're not going to inform Sombra about this.”

“If I don't, you owe me one.”

“Fine.” Sombra would probably detect something eventually, as she always did. Right now, Widowmaker just needed a break.

She at last managed to retreat to her room, bypassing everything to head straight for the bathroom. The light flicked on, and she leaned in close to the mirror. Sure enough, there was a slightly pink flush on the tops of her cheeks, barely there, but unusual enough to give anyone pause. It wasn't the first time this had happened, but other times it had eventually led to…

“Hmph.” Widowmaker abruptly pulled away from the mirror, marching back into the bedroom and swiping up her nightgown. This had nothing to do with ‘other times’ considering Tracer was involved. “Peste.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chica/Girl
> 
> Pour l'amour de dieu/For the love of god
> 
> Quoi?/What?
> 
> Who does she think she is en train de m’agacer jour et nuit comme si je vis que pour l'entendre piailler? Comme si j'ai rien d'autre à faire que de subir ses plaintes complètement nulles? Cette espèce de peste peut me ficher la paix!/  
> Who does she think she is harassing me day and night as though I live for nothing but to hear her squawking? As though I have nothing better to do than suffer her utterly stupid complaints? This freaking pest needs to leave me alone!


	11. Allegiance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW brief graphic violence

The next week found Widowmaker away once again, jumping around Europe for quick missions that needed nothing more than a scope and a bullet. Some were collaborations with another unit, others she handled on her own. Tracer had stayed on base, although Widowmaker couldn't help but fear what nonsense the girl could get herself into unoccupied for so long.

Her final task required a chip Orona had acquired, so with the most recent one completed, she made her way back to the London base. She wasted no time in heading straight for Orona’s office.

“Welcome back, Widowmaker.” Orona set down her reading glasses as Widowmaker stepped out of the lift and approached. Her cool gaze was appraising even as she nodded in satisfaction. “I heard good things about the job you just finished; will make today’s much easier.”

“Is there an update?”

“No; however, I would like to discuss a couple of things. For one, we've caught our canary.”

“The renegade.”

“Precisely. Recently, he had been targeting Hart’s organisation so they had the current information we needed to track him. That mission at Battersea was worth it despite being just for him. Pity Hart didn't want to cooperate the easy way.”

“She made her choices.”

“Indeed. And so did you.”

Widowmaker cocked her head. “Pardon?”

Orona set her arms on her desk, leaning forward slightly. “Widowmaker, I can't help but notice that your choice in missions is… interesting.”

Widowmaker frowned. “You will have to be more specific.”

“That mission as well as the others you've selected have focused entirely on targets much of the world would deem unsavoury.” Orona pinned her with narrowed eyes. “I'm not blind. You're protecting Tracer.”

Widowmaker’s eyebrows shot up and she laughed shortly. “That girl does not need protecting. But you've seen how intense she can get. We push her too far and we lose her. She needs to get used to this first.”

“It's been five months.”

“A far cry from how long it took even Overwatch to get her to accept certain missions. Her file was quite clear about that. We will get much more out of her if she learns to trust me. It is the best conditioning we can afford.”

“So you keep saying.”

“Believe me, the last thing I would like right now is to be gentle with her while she is irritating me to death. She is not easy… but she is good. The missions we go on are still necessary, are they not? Two of them have helped you get this man you were looking for. Talon is not losing anything from this, so let me handle her.”

Orona looked thoughtful for a moment… but the words on her face never made it to her lips. She merely donned her glasses and turned to her tablet once more. “Go ahead on your extraction. NT-5 will need the data you pick up for their next mission. It's up to you whether you want to bring Tracer. I believe she is in the training room at the moment.”

Widowmaker hesitated the slightest bit before nodding. “Understood.” She turned on her heel to head back to the lift.

And went straight for the landing strip.

\---

It was nighttime when Widowmaker made it back to base for good, mission results under her belt. She sat in the common room with a tablet in her hands to type the brief report Orona wanted before morning. She had almost finished up her notes when she heard familiar footsteps entering. She braced herself.

“Oh, Widow.” Tracer’s voice sounded surprised. Perhaps she wasn't here expressly to be annoying. “You're back. Had a mission today too?”

Widowmaker kept her eyes trained on the screen. “Mmhmm.”

“How'd it go?”

“Fine.”

“Good, good.” Tracer lingered at the doorway.

This time Widowmaker looked up at her pointedly. “Anything else?”

Tracer nervously rubbed the back of her neck as she approached the sofa. “Well, since you're here, I'm, ah, sorry about the other night. I guess I'd had a bit too much to drink.”

“I seem to always regret believing you possess rational judgment.”

“Yeah, I was pretty… unprofessional at the club.”

Widowmaker set down her tablet next to her and leaned back, crossing her arms. “Oh, you're only talking about the club, are you?” Tracer winced, actually having the decency to look embarrassed. Her mouth opened, unsuccessfully trying to find words until Widowmaker thankfully decided to save her from herself. “Whatever. I know what liquor does to people.”

“Yeah. Although, I mean… you also did look great,” Tracer offered with a hopeful grin, finally sitting down at the opposite end of the sofa.

Widow scoffed, but having Tracer back to her lighter, irreverent self felt better than the other night. Like a bit of normalcy that was rather a relief after the past few days. She supposed she could forgive the lapse -- not that she was going to let Tracer know that so easily. “Do you throw yourself at everyone like this?”

“What? No!”

“Ah, so I'm special.” There was a smirk on Widow’s face now.

“No! I mean -- well--” Tracer huffed. “I'm not throwing myself at anyone!”

“Even that girl? Could have fooled me.”

“That's just going with the flow, you know? Just ‘cause I'm obvious doesn't mean I'm desperate. Might as well embrace it if I'm going to be absolute shite at hiding what I'm thinking anyway.”

“Now that, I can believe. Reckless in every aspect of your life.”

“No point in not seizing the day, you know? Life’s too short to not get invested.”

Widowmaker didn't seem impressed. “You're going to get yourself hurt thinking things like that.”

Tracer paused. “In this case I was just referring to ogling pretty girls.” Then she shrugged. “But I guess in general I could never really help it.”

“Have you ever even tried to say no to yourself?”

Tracer looked at her curiously. She sounded a little sarcastic as she always did, but it seemed there was something serious behind the words. “Don't think I've ever really had to. Not until I had to be on the run and all that.”

“Hmm.”

“Sounds like you have though.”

Perhaps it was the uncharacteristically soft tone in which Tracer said it, but Widowmaker didn't snap at her. She even seemed to drop the tiniest bit of her irritated façade. “It is the job. Always has been, and always will be.”

 _It wasn't always_ , Tracer wanted to say. But that was referring to Amélie, and frankly, Tracer wasn't sure Amélie was anywhere in there anymore. Not that her life had ended well in that regard. Perhaps in addition to her muted emotions, that was another reason why Widow hated relationships: she had been born from the tragic ending of one.

“I have myself and my rifle,” Widowmaker continued. “That is all I need.” But she kept staring at Tracer as though she were considering something. “You must have left someone behind.”

Tracer’s eyebrows went up. It was an astute assumption. One she had never expected Widowmaker to so much as think about. “Yeah, some time ago. Her name’s Emily. We'd been together since my first time in Overwatch, but by the time it fell apart again, we were falling apart too. I couldn't let her get dragged into me running away from the law.”

“So you have said no to yourself.”

“I suppose so. But it wasn't that I held back in the first place, just that it needed to end. She even told me she wanted to stay friends, but I didn’t think that was safe for her either. It hurt, but I have no regrets. It… was the job. And the right thing to do to protect her.”

“Do you miss her?”

Another question that caught Tracer off-guard. “Sometimes I still do, to be honest, but not the same way I used to. I've moved on.” She hesitated before continuing. “You know, you've never asked me so many things like this.”

“I am… curious.”

 _Curious_. Widow had said that about saving her too. Whatever that association was supposed to mean.

“I can live with that. I'm obviously not very shy about emotions, especially the ones I have for people.”

“Which makes it even stranger that so many of your emotions are positive.”

Tracer thought for a moment. “I always saw so much potential. I’d expect the best of most people even if I knew I wouldn't always get it.”

“And now?”

Tracer herself hadn’t even caught the fact that she’d used the past tense there. “I can't lie; it got harder with what happened to us… and with what I learned about what had really been going on in Overwatch. But even still, there's a part of me that doesn't want to fully give up on anyone. There are so many out there who are so brilliant and worth it.”

Tracer expected Widow to have some sort of disdain for her optimism, but for a while, she was quiet. When she spoke, it was with a rare, straightforward honesty.

“You asked me once why Talon changed me the way they did, and like I said, part of it was for efficacy. But the other part… was simply because they could. All they cared about in the beginning was Gérard and seeing him dead, whatever that took, but they also had an experimental reconditioning program they were researching. They thought they could create the perfect soldiers with it, with unfailing loyalty and enough brain plasticity to turn them into any sort of fighter needed. The problem was the procedure was so dangerous, they did not want to risk the people they already had.

“To this day, I don't remember what Gérard did that made Talon hate him so much. But when they realised they could use his wife to get to him, it was the perfect opportunity. Amélie was worthless to them so if anything went wrong, it did not really matter. They had no reason to hold back so they tortured Amélie, destroyed her until they got what they wanted. Now, I am their trophy of the perfect revenge.”

Tracer was floored. Her jaw clenched, fury in her veins. Of course she had known part of the story and inferred the rest, but somehow knowing Talon hadn't even kept Amélie for any other reason than that she was meaningless to them… that made it even worse. “If you know all this, why’d you stay with them?”

“Why have you?” Tracer frowned. “Besides the loyalty they obviously bred in me, I was also born with an itch to scratch and they indulge it. No one else can give me what I need, so I stay.”

It seemed like such a banal explanation for someone Tracer had assumed was blindly obsessed with Talon. Maybe she was supposed to be but something had shifted for whatever reason. She wondered if Talon knew that.

“We have what may be a long mission tomorrow. I believe it is time to get some rest.”

Tracer could tell she was being dismissed, but Widow didn't sound defensive the way she had last time they'd had a conversation like this. It was encouraging -- maybe Tracer was getting somewhere with her. But that meant she needed to tread extra carefully, which included not pushing anything further tonight.

“Yeah, I'm sure you could use a full night's sleep to recover from the past week.” Tracer rose and headed for the door. “See you in the morning.”

“Maybe a good night's sleep will also help you not be late.”

Tracer rolled her eyes at the pointed tone, but she couldn't really argue. “Promise,” she called over her shoulder.

\---

Tracer was out of bed as soon as her alarm rang. Somehow, she had awoken feeling surprisingly mentally refreshed although she wasn't entirely sure why. The only difference from the usual was that a conversation with Widowmaker had actually ended rather well. Despite the topic, Tracer found that seeing Widow being so open had actually put her own mind at ease, especially after worrying for days about what she'd been thinking since their slightly unfortunate night out.

Tracer glanced at the clock as she quickly buckled her harness, seeing she still had five minutes. For once, she would actually be a little early to meet Widow. Maybe it would start her off in a better mood than usual as well.

There was a knock at the door. Tracer gave the clock another look just to make sure she hadn't misread it. Widowmaker practically never bothered to fetch her from her room, but she would be pleasantly surprised today. “I'm almost ready!” Tracer called as she grabbed her pulse pistols.

There was another knock, more insistent this time. Tracer sighed as she headed to the door and began to open it. “I just needed a second, would it kill you to have a little patience--”

Orona stood in the doorway.

“Oh.” Tracer stiffened and felt herself redden a bit. “Sorry ma'am, I thought you were Widowmaker.”

“I know this is sudden, Tracer, but I think we need to… talk.”

Her words were placid, her face veiled in a cordiality that didn't quite reach her dark eyes. Tracer's embarrassment soon gave way to a gnawing feeling of anxiety. Orona had rarely ever directed a single question towards her. They had never even been in the same room without Widowmaker there. This was… concerning.

“Ah, I'm supposed to be meeting Widowmaker for a mission in a minute. I should probably tell her I'll be--”

“That won't be necessary. The sooner you follow me, the sooner you can get to your duties. How long this takes is entirely up to you.” Orona backed out into the hall and gestured before her.

Tracer hesitantly walked out, closing the door behind her. Widowmaker wasn't going to like this, and Tracer had a feeling she herself was going to like it even less. But there simply wasn't a way to say no.

Orona walked down the hall, turning a couple of corners until they reached the rear lift. After a retinal scan, the doors opened and they walked inside, Orona pressing a button for one of the lowest floors.

Tracer tried not to fidget as they descended, the passing seconds feeling like ages. She kept expecting Orona to speak to her yet she unnervingly said nothing, leaving her lost as to what might be to come. At last, the lift stilled and the doors opened.

Whereas the top two floors were similarly finished, this level looked as though it had hardly been developed at all. The floors and walls were untreated concrete and the only lights were small bare bulbs far above on the ceiling. The space felt like a suffocating chasm.

Orona strode down hall after grey hall, Tracer’s usually precise sense of direction getting lost amidst all the turns and the apprehension that each one brought. Finally, Orona stopped at what appeared to be an armoured door. She entered a code in a keypad and walked inside, Tracer following. There was a middle-aged man with a white collared shirt bound in a metal chair, mouth sealed with some sort of tape.

“Do you know who this man is Tracer?”

Tracer felt her heart and mind racing with confusion. “Er… no?”

“He's one of Talon’s biggest threats -- has been for a long time. A traitor who fled from us only to sabotage us with his knowledge. He and his associates were responsible for the situation at our warehouse a couple of months ago. He was on the run for years, but finally we have him in our grasp.” The man’s eyes were wide and panicked.

Tracer was just about to ask what this had to do with her, but words failed when Orona suddenly walked right up to her. Orona reached into Tracer’s holsters to pull out her guns then hold them out. Tracer nervously took them.

“Tracer, I only need you to do one thing.”

Tracer held her breath.

“Kill him.”

\---

Widowmaker glanced at her watch. They had been due to leave six minutes ago and Tracer was nowhere to be found. _Cette fille_. This girl probably couldn't get anywhere early if her life depended on it. Widowmaker set off towards the sleeping quarters. There wasn't a lot of leeway with this mission so she needed to drag Tracer out of here as soon as possible.

She stopped in front of Tracer’s room door and knocked. “We don't have all day.” No response. “Are you almost ready?” Still silence. Widowmaker frowned and turned the knob, finding it unlocked. She opened the door to an empty room.

Where in the world was Tracer?

\---

_Kill him._

Tracer stood frozen in the silent room, arms rigid as she held her guns by her hips. Orona backed away towards the side of the room and the farther she went, the more beads of sweat Tracer felt forming at her hairline.

“You've been serving us incredibly well since your arrival here, but you must understand, we need to know how deep your commitment to us truly runs. We can't have agents shirking our orders whenever they see fit, can we, Tracer?” Orona paused with a pointed look at her.

Tracer swallowed. “No, ma’am.”

“Of course not. A couple of your missions were designed to help us find this man. Widowmaker decided not to tell you out of fear of how you would react, but I believe you deserve to know. He has been at odds with our organization for years and refused countless warnings for him to stop. Does it make any sense to let him go?”

Tracer was struggling to process what she was being told, but there was no time for hesitation. “No, ma'am.”

“We don't particularly like the idea of prisoners here at Talon. No use beating around the bush. This man knew the consequences and accepted them. Now, it's time to carry them out. Do you understand?”

Orona came to her side, pushing her hands up until she was aiming right at the terrified man’s head.

“I said, _do you understand_?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Tracer could hardly speak her throat was so dry.

She had known this day would come. She’d known this would happen whether she’d foolishly believed she could avoid it or not: an ultimatum designed to prove her loyalty and force her past the point of no return. It had only been a matter of time. Loyalty didn't even need to be a factor though, not when Talon already had her life. This was just them testing to see how much she really wanted to keep it.

And to see how much they could change her.

She gripped her guns so hard her knuckles were white. It wasn't as though she could change this man's fate, but… what kind of person would she be after this? Then again, if her hesitation was purely selfish, did it matter?

She took a shaking breath.

A single shot rang out in the room. The man’s head snapped backwards, eyes still wide, blood trickling out of a bullet hole in the centre of his forehead.

Tracer whirled around, disorientated. Widowmaker was in the doorway, just pulling her rifle down from her shoulder.

Orona stepped towards her, eyes deadly. “What do you think you're doing?”

Widowmaker countered her icy approach with aggression. “No, the question is what do _you_ think you're doing? We will already be a quarter of an hour late to leave for our mission.”

“This was not supposed to involve you.”

“At this rate, we will miss the target entirely. Perhaps that is less important to you than proving some useless point. Perhaps you should examine _your_ ability to do your job while you let Tracer do hers.”

Orona looked like she was fuming, but said nothing.

“Get over here, Tracer. Let's go salvage what we can of this mission.”

Tracer thoughtlessly complied, forcing her trembling legs to move, not daring to look back.

The walk to the lift was horribly silent. Tracer wasn't sure how to feel. Didn't know what to say. She had seen people die, of course, but rarely that close to her, and never execution style like that.

As soon as the lift doors closed them in, Widowmaker let out a harsh exhale. “That woman is infuriating sometimes.” She then faced Tracer, tilting the girl’s head upwards and running cool fingers over parts of her face. Tracer looked down at them and saw blood. “You can properly clean up on the plane.” Tracer didn't respond, simply stared at the doors again. “Don't tell me you're in shock. This mission is a complete failure in that case.”

“I…”

“You were not supposed to see that,” she continued in frustration. “She was testing you. He was dead the moment he wound up in Talon’s custody.”

Tracer’s voice was barely audible. “Thank you.”

Widowmaker looked at her in surprise. She hadn't been expecting gratitude for putting a bullet in a helpless man’s head. But she knew Tracer would have struggled with herself if she'd done it and Widowmaker, frankly, did not need that right now. “You know me. I suppose it just worked out well for the both of us.”

Tracer met her eyes, with a somewhat unreadable look for once. She was likely having a hard time pinning down Widowmaker’s morals at this point. Tracer wanted things so black and white sometimes while Widowmaker simply didn't care. “You should know better than to expect a heart of gold from me.”

Tracer remained quiet. In fact, no other words came out of her mouth for the rest of the day.

The mission started off tense, the two needing to hurry off of the drop-off plane by the harbour before the target ship came in. After that, however, everything went surprisingly smoothly. The guards were incapacitated, the goods confiscated, and the duo made it back onto the plane before twilight had entirely faded.

Yet through all of this, despite every other mission in which Widowmaker felt herself dying for some peace and quiet, Tracer never said a thing. There were distracted nods, occasional hand signals, and that was it. No mindless chatter, not even useful callouts although fortunately this mission didn't seem to need them. It was too off. Widowmaker should have felt relieved, but she found herself rather the opposite. She looked over at Tracer sitting on the other side of the plane’s cargo hold as they flew back to base. “Are you going to speak at all today?”

Tracer didn't even spare her a glance.

It was close to dinner time when they landed. Widowmaker headed for the cafeteria, but Tracer went straight for the sleeping quarters. Widowmaker sighed but let her go.

\---

Tracer dropped her guns and jacket on the floor as soon as she reached her room. Mechanically, she grabbed her pyjamas and toiletries and headed for the showers. She felt like she couldn't reach them fast enough. She immediately turned on the tap full force once she closed the door to the stall behind her, not even waiting for it to heat up. The immediate rush of frigid water made her grit her teeth but she at least felt more present than she had in hours. Gradually, the water warmed, and Tracer found herself twisting the knob until it was almost scalding. The morning had placed a chill inside her that she desperately wanted to thaw out. It had frozen her words and thoughts entirely. She needed to process.

Even as the shock of the images faded, however, Tracer found there were more fears bubbling up underneath. What would happen now? Would there be consequences for what she’d failed to do? And what did it mean that missions she had blindly taken had led to this?

What did it mean that the responsibility made her feel… not as much as she had expected? Perhaps she had subconsciously accepted long ago that she may have to tolerate these things. Perhaps she had already changed…

She shook her head, trying to shut her eyes against the thoughts. She grabbed the soap and washcloth and desperately scrubbed at her body as though she could wash off the entire day. Her thoughts receded into the background as she finished her shower, dressed, and returned to her room.

But an hour into being in bed, she realised it wouldn't be that easy. She was lying on her back staring at the dark ceiling above, acutely aware that she should have been asleep by now. She just couldn't seem to nod off. There was once again too much noise in her head from earlier.

_‘You must understand, we need to know how deep your commitment to us truly runs.’_

Not very deep in terms of emotional loyalty. It never had. But it was supposed to have been enough -- why was Orona suddenly fixated on her moral alignment? If she did her job, only going as far as absolutely necessary, wasn't that all that mattered? Apparently not anymore. Except when it came to Widowmaker, who throughout this entire process had simply accepted her for what she was.

_‘You should know better than to expect a heart of gold from me.’_

But Tracer didn't. She never had, and yet she was finding glimmers of it in spite of it all. She was never entirely sure what to make of Widow, and that in and of itself had been causing some introspection. A few months ago, writing Widow off as a heartless, irredeemable assassin would have been more than easy. Now, even though she was still an assassin and perhaps still irredeemable in the strictest sense, Tracer wasn't sure she was truly heartless.

The suspicion was resulting in some conflicting emotions. Tracer hadn't wanted to feel this indebted to her, but now Widow had voluntarily gotten her out of serious trouble multiple times. Even if she claimed it was for mostly selfish purposes, Tracer was believing that less and less. And it was making her feel… protected.

_Stuck on a Talon base and your one safe space is Widowmaker. You're bloody insane._

She probably was. All sorts of her judgments felt like they were being rearranged the more she did all of this. 

Tracer finally pushed her sheets off of her and pulled on her chronal accelerator. She wasn't going to get any sleep at this rate anyway. She walked out of her room and made her way down the halls until she reached the door she wanted. She took a breath and knocked.

“Who is it?”

“It's me.”

There was some shuffling and then the door opened wide to reveal Widowmaker in a lavender silk nightgown and satiny black robe.

Tracer really should have expected Widowmaker of all people to enjoy the finer things in life, but the baser parts of her brain were having a hard time processing. Which was rather ridiculous considering Widow wore a barely-there bodysuit literally every day.

“Can I help you?” Widow’s expression was a familiar shade of annoyance. Typical. But perhaps a bit more toned down tonight.

“Ah…” Tracer forced her eyes back up to Widow’s face which was framed by loose hair, equally distracting. “Yeah, sorry, just dropping by.”

“You can't sleep.”

“No,” Tracer admitted. “And I wanted to ask you something.”

Widowmaker stepped aside to let her in, then closed the door behind her. It was a suite as opposed to a small room, nicely furnished compared to Tracer’s. Tracer sat down on the sofa while Widowmaker went to an armchair that had a booklet perched on the back.

Tracer’s face lit up in surprise. “You do crossword puzzles?”

“Keeps me on top of my languages.”

“How many do you speak?”

“Many. My third is Spanish. Not that Sombra knows, and I plan on keeping it that way.”

There was a twitch of a smile on Tracer’s face. “I'd bet it's for the best.”

“You want to talk about earlier,” Widow bluntly changed the subject.

“Erm, yeah.” Tracer sobered and bit her lip. “Those missions we’ve taken… are they why this happened?”

Widowmaker looked away a moment. “Orona felt they were too… mild. I suppose I should have expected her to do something about it.” Tracer stared back blankly, leading Widowmaker to frown. “What?”

“I meant that man being captured.”

“...Ah.”

Tracer’s voice grew a bit more eager. “Was there really something about which missions you--”

“Some of them contributed information necessary to apprehending him,” Widowmaker cut in sharply. She was pointedly avoiding the angle that she herself had brought up, but her reaction told Tracer everything she needed to know. “Feel free to be angry about me withholding that fact.”

Tracer blinked. “I… I’m not, actually.” They both seemed surprised by that. “You thought I’d argue?”

“You argue about everything.”

“I do not!” Widowmaker gave her a wry look. “Okay, I walked into that one.”

“I did not want you to be thinking about it,” Widow continued. “Not with everything else. Those missions were the best options you had and I was not going to deal with you being annoying and resisting.”

Tracer’s lips twitched into a brief smile at Widow’s gruffness, finally understanding that it had come from benevolence. “Sounds about right.” She then sighed, sobering once more. “Orona’s gonna try this again isn't she?”

“Not in the same way, but I'm certain she will do something once she has thought it out. There is no way of telling when.”

“I figured. Don't know what I'm gonna do then.”

Widowmaker tilted her head in thought. “Would you have fired if I had not been there?”

“You fired for me because you thought I wouldn't.”

Widow raised an eyebrow. “I never said that.”

Tracer's brow furrowed in pensiveness. “Honestly… I don't even know the answer myself.”

“Then I suppose next time we may find out.”

“Yeah,” Tracer murmured. “I'm glad you were there today. Worst case scenario, my guns don't necessarily provide the most humane deaths.”

“I did not do it for him.”

“I know. But you didn't really do it for you either.”

Widow gave Tracer a long look. “Perhaps not.”

Once again, Tracer felt a surge of… some unnamed feeling at the confirmation that for whatever reason, Widow was treating her like she was, well, special. It made her feel warm and better than anything had in ages. Even the warning voice in the back of her head saying not to invest too much trust in Widowmaker wasn't enough to quell whatever hope was burgeoning within her. Despite the almost sure fact that one day Widow would permanently tire of her and write her off without a shred of regret, Tracer couldn't help but want to keep pushing the line even further.

“You got any other crosswords?” Widowmaker just looked at her for a moment and Tracer knew she was probably overstaying her welcome. But then Widow reached into the drawer of the side table and handed her a small booklet and pencil.

“Knock yourself out.”

A couple of hours later, Widowmaker realised she wasn't sure why she had let Tracer stay with that flimsy excuse. Fifteen minutes in, the girl had, in fact, entirely knocked out, sprawled on her side across the sofa. The comfort of a familiar presence, she supposed, although anyone would be hard pressed to call Widowmaker comforting. Nonetheless, here they were in the middle of the night.

Widowmaker finally felt her own eyelids drooping so she set down her crossword and stretched as she rose. She pulled out a blanket from the linen closet and walked back to the sofa, pausing a moment. Awake, Tracer’s face had seemed drained for her young years, but now she looked as peaceful as ever. How she was entirely at ease alone with someone like Widowmaker was beyond her. Such a ridiculous girl.

She finally took the last step forward and set the blanket down over her visitor.

“Fais des beaux rêves, chérie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cette fille/This girl  
> Fais des beaux rêves, chérie/Sweet dreams, darling


	12. Gravity

The rich smell of fresh coffee was the first thing Tracer registered as she slowly eased out of unconsciousness. Her brain tried to make sense of the oddity and the first thought that came to mind was Angela and her borderline addiction borne out of long days and short nights. But even in her deep sleep-induced amnesia, she felt that wasn't quite right. Overwatch was a thing of days past. Emily was out of her life -- and had preferred tea anyway. She didn't know who that left. Tracer finally opened her eyes, the rush of thoughts leaving the answer on the tip of her tongue. She was holding onto an unfamiliar blanket on an unfamiliar couch, facing an unfamiliar coffee table. A blue hand placed a wide mug with rising steam onto it.

“Bien dormi?”

Tracer looked up at Widowmaker standing over her in a black robe and everything clicked. “I fell asleep on your couch.” Widow raised an eyebrow at the obvious statement. “I just -- sorry, that wasn't intentional.” She glanced at the mug. “That for me?”

“Thought it might drag you out of the near coma you were in.”

“It sure did the trick.” Tracer sat up, stretching as she went. “Wow, I haven't slept this well in ages.” She reached out and took a sip of the coffee. “This is delicious.”

“My favourite decaf.”

Tracer stared down into her mug with a frown. “This is decaf?”

“I want you awake, not bouncing off of the walls. There isn't enough caffeine on this entire base for me to deal with that.”

Tracer opened her mouth for a sarcastic reply, then remembered the last time someone had given her a cup of coffee. “Eh, point taken.” Widowmaker returned from the kitchenette and set down a plate of buttery-looking biscuits on the table as she sat, folding her legs underneath her. Tracer reached for one and bit into its light, crumbly texture. “Mmm. Are these French?”

Widowmaker hummed affirmation, her mouth full with one as well.

“How often do you go?”

“I have a home in Annecy. It is usually where I stay while not on a mission.”

“Bet it's nicer than this place. How come you haven't stayed there lately?” In all the months Tracer had been here, Widowmaker hadn't left base for anything other than missions.

“Things require my attention here.”

Tracer had a funny feeling that she was ‘things’. Once again, she felt a little odd that Widowmaker had been going out of her way for her. A few months ago, she would have hesitated to feel guilty for Widowmaker, but lately? And especially after the day before?

“Orona’s not gonna be happy with you about yesterday, is she?”

Widowmaker took a calm sip of her coffee. “That is not your concern.”

“It is, though. She's gonna see it as you sticking your neck out for me and I -- I don't want to drag anyone else into this.”

The mug left Widowmaker’s lips and she shrugged. “Whether I may like to admit it or not, we somehow work efficiently together. I would rather preserve that than have Orona try to tamper with what is not broken. That is what partners do, non?”

 _Partners._ It had started out as an ostensibly impersonal explanation, but that word made it feel different for some reason. Despite what were surely tiring efforts to keep Tracer out of trouble both in and out of the field, Widow still thought she was worth keeping around. She never thought she’d ever hear such a clear expression of that out of Widow’s mouth. “Yeah… yeah, I guess it is.” She held Widow’s eyes and thought she saw something close to a smile before it was hidden once again by the coffee mug.

“I will see eventually how upset Orona is and decide where to go from there. But she left this morning to spend some time at our Chinese base, and then she always takes time off for the holidays.”

Tracer had almost forgotten it was so close to the end of the year. “Do you take time off?”

“I might take a day. Buy some more of these sablés.”

“As long as you keep sharing.”

“So demanding.”

“You wouldn't have me any other way.” Tracer grinned.

“Arguable.” But Widow hardly sounded convincing. After a minute or two of quiet, she rose to walk to the kitchenette and set down her mug onto the counter. “I have an errand to run this morning. I don’t have much food here so you will have to visit the cafeteria for an actual meal anyway.”

“Gotcha.” Tracer rose as she finished off her mug, heading for the door. “Thanks for the coffee. And the biscuits. And the couch. Well, and the--” Tracer broke off as an object came flying towards her. She raised a hand and caught it, looking down to find it was a small pack of the biscuits. Her face lit up. “Hey, thank--”

“Get out.” Widowmaker’s face looked almost amused but Tracer still knew she meant it. “Stay out of trouble.”

Tracer nodded as she walked out. “You got it.” She closed the door behind her and began walking back to her own room. It was only when she passed someone who gave her a hesitant smile that she realised there was a grin still plastered to her face. The day before had been a nightmare, and yet spending the night on Widow’s sofa had put her in a better mood than she’d been in for… who knew how long.

Perhaps merely the confirmation of having someone on her side was warming the part of her that felt cold from what had happened. She hadn't realised how much she'd craved something to dull the sting of solitude. Widowmaker, whatever Tracer might have once thought of her, truly did have her back. That fact was, well, rather amazing.

“Hola.”

The voice sounded all too familiar as Tracer put her hand on the doorknob, about to enter her room. She grimaced before she even turned around to face Sombra. But turn around she did, finding an expression that was an expected veneer of faux innocence.

“What do you want?”

“Are those the pyjamas you never ever leave your room wearing?”

Tracer paused then shook her head in confusion. “How do you even know that?”

“I didn’t to be honest, but I appreciate your confirming my suspicions.”

Tracer raised an eyebrow. “What suspicions?”

“Hm, walking back to your room but not from the direction of the cafeteria, looking very chipper even though you're not much of a morning person… let me guess: Widowmaker’s in a great mood too?”

Tracer’s eyes widened as she finally caught onto what Sombra was implying. “Oh -- ohh no no no.” She waved her hands vigorously. “This is _not_ what you're thinking.”

“So you didn’t spend the night in Widow’s suite?”

“I--” she stuttered. “I slept on the sofa!”

“Wow, didn’t even make it to the bedroom.”

Tracer was flushing furiously. “It wasn’t like that! I just -- nothing happened, alright?”

Sombra suddenly burst into laughter, almost doubling over. “Ay, chica, te estoy tomando el pelo. You’re so easy to wind up.”

Tracer paused, uncertain. “So you believe me?”

“Of course. Neither of you would be up at this hour otherwise.”

Tracer could feel her cheeks burning with both embarrassment and irritation. “You're the absolute worst.”

“What can I say? A girl’s gotta have the latest chisme.” Sombra smirked. “Anyway, I was just passing by. I'll leave you to your devices since you'll need to prep for your mission later.”

“We don't have a mission later.”

But Sombra just smiled as she continued down the hall. “Wait for it…”

\---

“Surprise clean-up gig, eh?” Tracer looked around the alley they had just climbed down into after being dropped off on a rooftop. “Which team cocked up this one?”

“One that was poorly informed and ambushed by a well-staffed security unit.”

Tracer followed Widowmaker as she began to walk, carefully avoiding the rubbish bins strewn across their path. “Those guys ex-military or something?”

“More than likely. The leader of that smuggling ring does nothing halfway, it seems.”

“Well, they won’t see the two of us coming. We’ve got this in the bag.” The confident words were accompanied by a smug smile.

“You’re still in a good mood,” Widowmaker observed, sending a surprised glance down Tracer’s way. “Perhaps I should sleep on that sofa more often.”

The recollection of that morning along with Sombra’s pointed questions made heat begin to rise to Tracer’s neck. She felt a bit guilty for some reason, perhaps because she didn’t want Widowmaker’s more-than-kind gesture to backlash for the mere impression of something that never happened. Part of her didn't want to say anything. But why? Wouldn't that mean the insinuation had hit a nerve?

No way.

“So, uh, I ran into Sombra this morning.”

“Terrible way to start a day.”

Tracer wanted to laugh at Widowmaker actually joking, but it was half-hearted for the anxiety gnawing at her. “She might have… got the wrong idea of me being with you all night.” Tracer waited for Widow’s face to fall, but she remained unperturbed.

“You think I didn’t consider that possibility when I let you stay?”

It was a good point. “I guess you always have thought ahead of me.”

“Sombra likes to think she knows people’s secrets but she keeps them to herself for a reason. If she’s smart, she’ll realise there was nothing to hide in the first place. She simply likes to get reactions out of people.”

Tracer felt herself begin to relax. “She did seem to say she was having me on.”

“Yet you wanted to tell me anyway.” Widowmaker paused outside a set of iron double doors and looked down at her with the scarcest hint of amusement on her face. “Looking out for my reputation, hmm? Quite the gesture.”

“Well, you know.” Tracer shrugged, a suave smile creeping onto her face. “Have to protect a lady’s honour and all that.”

“When you are not busy taking it, I assume.”

Tracer stared at Widowmaker agape. “O-- oi!”

Widowmaker actually -- _actually_ \-- chuckled. The novelty almost made Tracer forget she was supposed to be offended by that jibe.

Almost.

“Listen--” Widowmaker calmly set about unhooking the padlock around the door handles, paying no heed to Tracer’s frazzled tone. “I’ll have you know I’m perfectly polite when I -- when, ah--”

The doors opened and Widowmaker raised an eyebrow at her. “Lucky you're better at saving your skin than you are your dignity.”

Tracer’s face was a lively shade of red as Widow turned to enter through the doorway. “Oh, bugger off!” Was everyone conspiring to embarrass her today?

The two grew quiet as they walked into darkness and Tracer felt her mission mode sober her up. She listened for any sounds but couldn't hear anything. “We sure security’s heavy here?”

“Not here. This room leads to another space, both of which are low-security covers.”

Tracer was a little confused but figured that Widowmaker would fill her in more as they went along, as usual. She looked around the warehouse instead, first up to the rafters, barely visible with some dim yellow lights on the support beams. They crossed the floor, keeping to the rows of shipping containers for cover just in case. Widowmaker seemed to be heading to a door on the left, but Tracer noticed some brighter light coming from a small doorway on the far right.

“I see it,” Widowmaker whispered before Tracer could even open her mouth. “Let’s just stay away for now.”

Tracer stayed silent in consent. At last, they reached their destination, Widowmaker carefully pushing open the door. The space they walked into was brightly lit and cavernous, tall and deep enough to be rather large plane hangar, Tracer thought. They stopped behind a stack of crates and Widowmaker knelt down, Tracer following suit.

“This spot’s near an airfield, isn’t it?”

“Indeed; this is a hangar that has fallen into disuse. The facility below, however, is currently being used by a Scottish arms cartel that has been poking its nose around London for some time now. We believe they have a more permanent facility elsewhere in England, but it hasn’t been found yet.”

“Below? There's something under here?”

“A high-security hideout guarded by said ex-military forces. We won’t be getting in, but we can observe activity from over here. The entrance should be across from us on the other side.”

Tracer glanced around, finding little but white walls and another shipping container with its doors open. “Don’t see much unless they’re hiding in there.”

Widowmaker pulled down her visor, scanning the room. She made a small sound of displeasure when she pulled it up again.

Tracer raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“The guards are not where I was told they would be.”

“More misinformation?”

“Hmph. Perhaps even disinformation. Someone may be feeding us lies to trap us again.”

“Want me to get a closer look and check out the container?”

“Not yet. Stay here.” Widowmaker put her eye to her scope.

Tracer shrugged in assent. She leaned back, having nothing to do except watch Widow as she scanned the area. She had long gotten used to the way Widow functioned while in the heat of the moment, but somehow it felt different to be looking at her like this -- close, and with no imminent danger to draw attention away.

One eye was squinted shut as the other peered through her scope, forcing a slightly furrowed brow. There were little crinkles in the corner of that eye, the tiniest reminder of age that made her suddenly feel more human amidst her otherwise intimidating image. Her lips were gently pressed together in concentration, but the slender finger by the trigger was loose and relaxed. Her ponytail was running down her back and pooling on the floor and Tracer found herself wondering how on earth she managed to keep it looking so pristine.

There had always been an elegance to Widowmaker, one that Tracer had been more grudging to acknowledge back when they were enemies. Strange to think that so much of how Tracer saw her had changed even though little about Widowmaker had. She supposed gaining the understanding of what had been made of her had been the key factor because despite a slight shift in attitude, her job was the same, as were her skills and looks and…

Tracer pulled up her goggles for a moment. “Hm.”

Widowmaker swivelled her head to come nose-to-nose with Tracer who hadn’t realised she’d leaned in quite so much. She frowned a bit and pulled back to meet Tracer’s eyes. “Quoi?”

“Um.” Tracer cleared her throat as she also pulled away and tried again. “Maybe it's just me, but your skin looks a little less, well, blue.”

Widowmaker was quiet for a moment. “All that time with those goggles on, I'm not surprised your colour perception is off. Do they also inhibit your ability to stay focused on the mission?”

The words were uttered in Widowmaker’s typically flippant style. Tracer rolled her eyes as she replaced her goggles but didn't get a chance to reply when a scraping noise echoed from the other end of the building. Both snapped their gazes over.

“There isn't supposed to be much activity on this level,” Widowmaker murmured.

Further sounds could be heard, but they saw nothing until a minute later when people began emerging from behind a wall. They were dragging and rolling large crates across the floor and into a shipping container.

“Guess you were right about this place not being permanent.”

“They are moving.” Widowmaker pursed her lips. “That may be why our intel was off. On one hand, that likely means we still have the element of surprise. On the other hand…”

Tracer looked at her in concern. “What’s the other hand got to say?”

“Our way out might get complicated.”

“Can't we leave through the warehouse?”

“I am wondering if we just discovered why the side door in there was open.”

“...Oh.”

“Let’s get out of here. They weren't supposed to be crawling all over this floor and getting caught would be quite unfortunate.”

“Yeah, there's a whole lot of them and not a lot of us.”

Tracer backed up carefully and turned around towards the way they came, staying crouched. Widowmaker followed, rifle held to her chest. When they reached the warehouse, they crept inside slowly, listening for any movement. Widowmaker pulled down her visor. She touched Tracer’s shoulder, turning her around to hand signal. _Two people. Left side. Armed. Go first, I’ll cover you_. Tracer nodded quickly in acknowledgment. She blinked forward to a stack of crates, then another. So far so good. Widowmaker followed on a parallel path, keeping an eye on Tracer. There was a gap up ahead that she wouldn’t be able to blink across quite invisibly, but the way seemed safe.

Tracer stepped out from behind cover. Blinked halfway. Stopped dead in the middle of the clearing.

Widowmaker frowned, looking through her visor, but unable to see anything. Still, she knew there was a possibility that someone was evading her infrared. Tracer backed up slowly, and from behind a container ahead of her came a man with the right half of his body pure metal. His hand was outstretched, holding a Sig with his finger on the trigger. Widowmaker grimaced. Newer cyborg technology was tricky to keep track of, and now she had let Tracer walk right into a trap.

Tracer held up her hands as she stopped moving and laughed nervously. “Look, I just kind of got lost in the area and walked into the wrong warehouse. I'll be on my way. No need to resort to violence, right?”

The safety clicked off. The man approached, Tracer straightening and lifting her head to meet his eyes.

He stopped just in front of her. “Cut the shite, love. We both know who really sent you here.” The accent sounded vaguely Scottish.

“I don’t know what you’re--”

The man lifted the muzzle of the gun to dig under Tracer’s chin. Widowmaker’s hands tightened around her rifle. She would attempt a shot if she had to, but her angle was poor.

“Orona,” he enunciated slowly. “Seems she finally picked up on our trail.”

Tracer scoffed. “Couldn’t be that hard if pretty much anyone can just waltz in here and--”

Her voice broke off into a choke as the gun pressed against her windpipe, a hand coming around to the back of her neck to keep her from pulling away. Widowmaker inhaled sharply and cursed under her breath. Could her partner just keep her idiot mouth _shut_?

“The next words out of you are going to be the ones I ask for, or I’ll have to put a nasty hole in that pretty little head. Are we clear?”

A surge of bitterness rose in Widowmaker’s throat and her finger was tense on the trigger, but she hoped beyond anything that Tracer would be smart enough to let this drop. She watched the gun be pulled away from her throat slightly. Tracer coughed. She glared up at the man with fire in her eyes, but, fortunately, didn’t say a word this time.

“I’m surprised Orona sent a little firecracker like you for a job like this. She used to prefer her agents a bit more… docile. Speaking of which…” He stepped back and looked around. “I know you’re here, Widowmaker. Not sure how much you care about your doll, but her time’s gonna be up soon if you don’t come forward. I think we should have a little chat.”

The implication of Widowmaker’s position was not lost on her, but there was no time to focus on that. She had been afraid of this the moment he had said Orona’s name. Widow didn’t know who he was, but he clearly knew Orona, and it seemed to follow that he was aware of her MO. She would indeed never send someone like Tracer alone on a high-value recon mission. But would he be smart enough to not underestimate them?

“Where is she?” He directed his question to Tracer who was silent. He knocked the barrel of the gun against her jaw -- not quite a blow, but the metal was certainly heavy enough for it to hurt. She flinched, but looked forward again, not seeming rattled at all.

Widowmaker had known Tracer to never back down from her when they were still enemies, but seeing her this fearless against someone who truly would kill her in a heartbeat was remarkable. Widowmaker had to admit a fair amount of respect for her composure. She just hoped Tracer wouldn’t take it too far.

“How about I make you a deal?” The man grazed the gun against her cheek. “No offense, but Widowmaker is the real value here, so in exchange for you telling me where she is, I’ll let you run back to Orona and deliver my message. The alternative is I shoot you in thirty seconds and find her myself. Your choice.”

Widowmaker saw Tracer’s fingers twitch a bit. She was getting nervous and undoubtedly trying to sort through her options. Widowmaker highly doubted she would actually agree to that -- as much as Widow wished she would right now. Alone, Widowmaker could handle herself, but Tracer as a hostage made things complicated.

“She’s over there.”

Widowmaker blinked to refocus on the scene before her. Instead of to the side of Tracer, where Widowmaker actually was, she was pointing behind her captor. She was trying to distract him so that Widowmaker could pull off something.

“Kane, Lucas, check the front.”

Widowmaker heard footsteps move from the wings. She had a very, very bad feeling that they were surrounded. No one had found her yet, but…

Tracer’s hand was fidgeting a bit more. They both knew that as soon as those people didn’t find Widowmaker, Tracer was dead. There was no more time to think. Widowmaker reached out her arm and shot a venom mine towards the front of the warehouse where they were looking. It went off within seconds with the sound of people coughing.

The man didn’t completely turn around -- merely adjusted his head slightly away from Widowmaker to better hear behind him -- but it would have to do. Widow didn’t have time for a headshot and she wasn’t even sure he had a heart anymore beneath that metal, but his abdomen might just be human still and so she flicked up her rifle and fired at it. He stumbled back with a cry, gun dropping from his hand as he fell. Widowmaker saw blood spatter on the container behind him. Lucky guess.

But she wasn’t going to wait for that luck to run out.

As Tracer blinked off to the side, Widowmaker launched her grapple up to a rafter and went up, scanning the room as she went. She was vulnerable for the moment, but if she could reach the loft, she would have enough cover to pick people off. As soon as she pulled herself up onto the rafter, she ran across, ducking behind the low wall of the loft just as a bullet whizzed by her ankle. Immediately, she scoped into her rifle and locked onto her attacker. They were down within seconds.

She continued to send bullets towards the few other people she could see from up here -- most of the cover down below wasn’t high enough to protect from her line of sight, unfortunately for them. The sound of Tracer’s blinks and pistols echoed up to her, but she stayed focused on her task. Everything was fine as long as she could still hear those.

Another bullet narrowly missed her now, angling past her shoulder. Someone new had emerged from the opposite side of the warehouse with a sniper rifle. She had already downed four people and had no idea how many Tracer was dealing with. This was not looking good. Widowmaker snapped her crosshair to the sniper who rolled away just in time to escape. She clenched her jaw as she quickly reloaded her mag. They were occasionally peeking behind a crate and Widowmaker spotted another shooter from the corner of her eye. But there was no way she could reposition; she was stuck here for the moment. She flicked her gun over to the second shooter, managing to land a body shot before returning to the sniper. She fired just as they peeked, likely not having expected her to reacquire her target so quickly. The sniper fell back prone onto the ground.

Widowmaker lowered her visor, scanning the room. There were a couple of other people scattered around that she couldn’t see from this vantage point. She would have to move. She got up and raced across a rafter, looking for the last person she had spotted fighting Tracer. The sound of a pistol clip emptying and a thud from below gave her a good idea of who won that one. Finally, Tracer came into view from behind a crate.

Widowmaker’s heart leapt into her throat.

Tracer hadn't noticed the person who had crept up on her, glock nearly pressing into the back of her head.

“Behind you!” The world felt as though it stopped for a moment. All Widowmaker could see were Tracer’s wide eyes as she realised her error and began to duck and spin around.

But the world hadn't stopped. A fact that hit Widow like the bullet that she had been distracted long enough to miss.

Pain seared into her thigh, a cry escaping her as her leg gave way and she crumpled off of the rafter into a free fall. She shot her grapple upwards in a panicked attempt to stop her descent -- in vain. She hit the ground with a heavy thud, hardly able to breathe with the shock of both the impact and her bullet wound.

But she had to move.

With a wheeze, she rolled onto her side and forced herself up, looking back to find Tracer fighting her assailant. She then flitted her eyes across the crates, trying to find her own attacker.

 _There_.

They had grossly missed any vital parts of her body when aiming, but Widow knew even another wound like the first could incapacitate her. There wasn't any time to lose as she dragged herself over to her weapon which had clattered nearby. She swiftly picked it up and put her eye to the scope, desperately willing her shaky arms to hone in on her target’s head. One bullet was all she needed. Next, she flicked back to the guard on Tracer, whose element of surprise had clearly knocked her off-balance. Her arm had been twisted behind her back and she was being held in front of them, but fortunately they were significantly taller. Widowmaker’s shot to their head was instant.

Tracer looked behind her as her attacker fell to the ground, then turned back forward to spot Widow farther ahead, who breathed heavily above her weapon. She rushed over in a flash kneeling down next to her.  “Oh, god. You alright, love?”

Widowmaker met Tracer’s frightened eyes, even more terrified than she'd seen them just seconds before. It was an intensity Widowmaker wasn't sure she'd ever seen and it was disorientating. But a spike of pain shot up her leg and reminded her that she had more pressing things to worry about.

She inhaled sharply. “Ah… I have had better days.”

Tracer knelt down and carefully took a look at Widow’s leg. There was a profusely bleeding bullet wound on the side of her thigh and Tracer cringed.

“Uh, can we get anyone here to help? How fast can someone fly over? Do you think you can walk?” Every question sounded more frazzled than the last.

“I am not going to die anytime soon, calm down,” Widow mumbled. “This is just… less than pleasant. Help me up.”

Tracer nodded quickly and moved to her wounded side, supporting her underneath her shoulders as she grabbed her weapon and stood. Widowmaker hissed in pain. Tracer’s hold tightened.

“Our ride will be at the rendez-vous point soon.”

“You’re not climbing anywhere with that leg.” Tracer began to walk, guiding them towards the exit. She put a hand to her comm. “Flight, this is Tracer. We have an injury and won’t be able to get back up to the rooftop.”

A crackle came through with the radio signal. “I copy. We have an alternative pick-up location half a click from your location: the abandoned airfield due west.”

“It might be a bit hot but if you can handle it, it’ll do. We’ll be there in a few.”

Tracer glanced behind them, no doubt worried about reinforcements coming through -- or whoever had survived the firefight. There was no guarantee that Orona’s curious friend, for one, had been completely taken out. But although Widow knew Tracer wanted to go faster, it seemed she was aware that the injured woman was in no shape to do so. They went through the door back out into the alley and took an immediate right, making for the end of the row. Widowmaker fought to ignore the increasing pain and weakness in her leg, but it felt as though the lane were going on forever and there was nothing to distract her. It began to register that this in particular was unusual.

Ah, right. Tracer wasn't speaking. In sharp contrast to mere minutes earlier, she currently wasn't uttering a word. Widowmaker cast a glance to her face and found it drawn. She wasn't sure she had ever seen Tracer look so distressed; even compared to the day before, this seemed different. But Widowmaker wasn't in the mood to go digging around for answers at the moment. She needed all of her energy going towards putting one foot in front of the other.

“He mentioned Orona by name,” Tracer suddenly said. “Kind of weird, innit?”

It certainly was. Widowmaker’s head was beginning to swim, but a shard of clarity broke through for a moment. “We shouldn’t tell her.”

“What? Why?”

“You heard the way he was speaking. They know each other. If she wanted us aware of that, she would have told us.” Widowmaker took a moment to catch her breath.

“This is something we’re not supposed to know, you're saying.”

Widowmaker nodded. “If she finds out, then…” Her thoughts trailed off. She couldn’t actually work through what the potential ramifications would be, but it seemed safest to keep the status quo until she could think straight.

“There’s the plane!”

Widowmaker looked ahead to spot a black craft in the sky. Just as gunfire went off behind them.

Tracer moved faster now, grip tightening around Widow’s waist. “Hold on, I’ve got you.”

The increased speed forced Widowmaker to rest her weight almost entirely on her partner, picking up her injured leg and nearly hopping on her other as Tracer stepped in sync to make the movement easier. For how small the girl was, she was holding her up impressively well. They stopped just beneath the plane which was now hovering over them.

The comms in their ears crackled. “I can’t touch down with the company we’ve got on us. Can you hook onboard? I’ll give you a hand.”

Tracer looked at Widowmaker who pulled her arm from around Tracer and shot up her grapple, hooking it somewhere within the cargo hold which had opened. She wrapped a portion of the cable around her hand, and Tracer did the same before tightly holding Widow to her again. As they began to be pulled up, Widowmaker was once again surprised by how much weight Tracer was supporting. She had underestimated her -- and was all the gladder for it at the moment. She would never have made it this far so quickly without her.

Bullets flew by them and grazed the cargo doors as they were pulled onboard by the wide-eyed pilot. Once inside, the two collapsed on the floor.

“Med kit’s on the right,” the pilot said in a hurry. “I’ve got to get us out of here.” She rushed back to the cockpit as the doors shut.

Tracer tried to catch her breath as she looked over at Widowmaker whose teeth were gritted, eyes closed. The sight forced her back into gear. She made it to her feet even as the plane tilted a bit, and helped Widowmaker sit up and slide over to the wall where she could hang on.

“Right side,” Tracer repeated to herself as she scanned the interior, eyes finally landing on a white container with a cross on it. She walked over to open it, finding a roll of bandage gauze and painkillers. She grabbed them then went back to Widow. She crouched down. “Take a couple of these.” She placed two small tablets in Widow’s mouth.

Widow didn’t resist but she frowned. “I do not need you feeding me,” she complained, sounding less than intimidating with her mouth full.

“You’re gonna want them kicking in by the time we’re back on base.”

Logic that Widowmaker couldn’t argue with. She grudgingly swallowed the medicine. Tracer carefully lifted her leg, seeing the blood that had stained her bodysuit and made a trail on the floor. She swallowed thickly and focused on unravelling the bandage to wrap it around the wound. She was no field medic, but she did know enough to stop someone bleeding out too fast.

Widowmaker was gripping the bar on the wall tightly. “Almost finished?” Her voice was slurred.

“Just about, love, no worries.” She had used up the entire roll of bandage now so she tied the ends together and sat back. “There. All done.”

Widowmaker’s eyes were heavy. “I suppose I will thank you for this now because I won’t feel like it when I’m actually coherent.”

A small smile crossed Tracer’s lips. “I’ll take it.”

The journey back to base felt longer than it probably was. Tracer kept leaning over to check the bandage on Widow’s leg to make sure blood hadn’t completely soaked it. She’d wrapped a thick enough layer that it shouldn’t be a problem, but she couldn’t be sure what exactly the bullet had hit. And even if blood weren’t gushing out, there was no telling how much had already bled out on the way to the plane.

Tracer looked down at her leggings on the side where she had been supporting Widow. The strip down the side had some blood on it, only visible on the orange portion. She pressed a hand to the black fabric next to it where blood would be almost invisible. Her fingers came out bright red. After a glance at Widowmaker, chest rising and falling with steady breaths, Tracer looked away and closed her eyes. There was no use panicking. They would have help soon, and there was nothing to do but wait.

\---

There would be far more waiting than Tracer was happy about.

Once Widow had been taken in by the medics on base, Tracer followed until she could no more, closed out of the operating room. She paced outside the door for nearly two hours waiting for news before finally feeling the weariness in her legs and sitting down against the wall. But closing her eyes made her see Widow getting shot over and over again, and even just staying still forced her to think about it -- especially since she was too nervous to even wander off to wash the blood off of her hand. It was awful. That fall had frightened her a lot more than she cared to admit.

But… maybe it was time that she did.

She wasn’t sure when she had begun to care about Widow -- about her life, her safety -- but the reality of it had slammed her in the chest when she’d heard that cry echo throughout the warehouse. Whereas once the impression of who Widowmaker was might have made Tracer feel as though she deserved something like this -- or worse -- now, even considering such a thought made her sick.

For some time now, her prior lack of sympathy had begun to guilt her as she’d realised that Widowmaker must have at least vaguely preferred Tracer’s survival even while they had still been enemies. That, along with everything that had happened since then, suggested that there was a real person inside Widow -- one who had made it a mission to help her despite knowing that Tracer might not have gone to similar lengths if their roles were reversed. Tracer didn’t want to see that person suffer. Not anymore.

The door to the infirmary abruptly opened, a nurse in blue scrubs turning towards Tracer and starting at the sight of her right below him.

“Sorry!” Tracer scrambled to her feet. “Widowmaker… ah, is she alright? Can I see her?”

The nurse raised his eyebrows, seeming surprised by the request. “Widowmaker? Yes, we finished the surgery half an hour ago. She’s in the adjoining recovery room. I can take you there if you'd like.”

Tracer nodded eagerly and followed him down the hall. He opened the next door they reached and Tracer stepped inside.

The room had a row of clinical white beds, but only one was occupied. Widowmaker was lying back on it, a blanket atop her legs. As Tracer approached, Widow pulled the blanket up to her waist, hiding the bit of bandage that had been peeking out. Tracer stopped next to her, hands in her jacket pockets. “Hey.”

Widowmaker blinked wearily at her. “Hello.” She tried to make her voice sound a little more alive than she felt.

“How you doin’?” Tracer was terribly failing at hiding her anxiety.

“I am fine. The bullet missed the femoral artery so it wasn't too critical. Easy fix; they are just observing me overnight to be safe.” Widow was trying to dismiss the concern, but Tracer’s expression didn't change. “What?”

“Nothing, just… glad you're alright.”

“Please spare me the dramatics.”

Tracer threw her hands up. “I'm not being dramatic!”

“Then stop dwelling.” Tracer seemed even more upset now which Widowmaker didn't understand. She was fine, so why was Tracer making such a big deal out of it? There was no use wasting that type of emotional irrationality on someone like her. But Tracer's face was drawn and as Widow's eyes wandered, it occurred to her that she was still in her mission clothes. And there was still blood on her hand.

“You didn't change.” Tracer shrugged. “What have you been doing all this time?”

Tracer fidgeted with the hem of her jacket. “I, well… waited to make sure you were alright.”

“I was in perfectly capable medical hands.”

“I know, but…” Tracer paused and bit her lip. “It was my fault,” she blurted out. “You called out for me because I missed something and distracted you.”

Widowmaker blinked in surprise. Tracer felt… guilty? Ridiculous. “Having each other’s backs is what partners do, remember?” She wasn't going to address the fact that she shouldn't have gotten that oblivious regardless of what had been going on with Tracer. Fortunately, it seemed that those words were having their intended effect. Tracer nodded, calming a bit.

Widowmaker frowned then, beckoning for Tracer to approach. The latter did so hesitantly, stopping right next to her. Widow lifted her hand to Tracer's chin and gently turned her face to the side, seeing on her jaw mottled purple evidence of the earlier blow of the gun barrel.

“Get that bruise looked at.”

The corners of Tracer's lips twitched upwards. “It'll be fine. A nurse can get me a salve or something.”

“Hm.” Widowmaker let go.

Tracer held her eyes. “I promise I’ll pay you back one of these days for making sure I’ve still got my head on my shoulders.”

“Perhaps you could start by letting me sleep?”

Tracer laughed lightly as she began to back away, clearly not taking it personally at all. “Right. I’ll visit you tomorrow, see how you’re doing, keep you company.”

“Please don’t,” Widow muttered.

The tone only made Tracer grin just before she left the room. “Definitely coming.”

Widowmaker slept on and off once Tracer was gone, vaguely sedated by her painkillers… but her mind was growing increasingly restless. Finally, she threw the sheets off of herself and slowly limped her way to the bathroom. She turned on the lights and simply stood there for a moment, frustrated by how immobile she felt.

This never should have happened.

She sighed harshly, finally losing her cool over her stupid, _stupid_ injury. How could she have made a mistake like this? Everything had been going according to plan, mind entirely clear until she had glanced over at Tracer and…

Widowmaker touched her cheek as she stared at herself in the mirror. She had played down Tracer’s earlier observation as a mistake -- diverting the conversation with a quip or two. But seeing her skin tone just the slightest bit lighter for the second time recently was more than that.

It was the slightest bit of fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bien dormi?/Sleep well?  
> Ay, chica, te estoy tomando el pelo/Oh, girl, I'm messing with you (lit. pulling your hair)  
> Chisme/Gossip
> 
> Lena's observation that she had more aggression when fighting Widow than the other way around was inspired by in-game voice lines. Lena takes great pleasure in the kills while Widow's reactions are generally just disdainful. Those lines aren't end all be all canon of course, but I do like to draw on them.


	13. Home for Christmas Pt.1

In Overwatch, Lena had loved holidays.

As much as she enjoyed her job, it was always nice to have that little bit of time to not have to worry about anything and simply _be_. It helped that Overwatch was her family to begin with; it was an unspoken tradition to celebrate together at least for a day and never let anyone go home alone when they dispersed.

Angela would bring holly to hang up in the halls and chocolates to share. She was usually the most excited at this time of year, along with Lena -- and Genji who had always seemed taken by unfamiliar traditions. Lena inevitably promised to bring tonnes of baked goods and decorations -- only half of which would actually make it given her tendency to overestimate herself. But it was always plenty with what everyone else brought: Commander Morrison, the unexpected cook; Jesse with drinks; Captain Amari with better drinks; Gabriel with gag gifts -- except for the best gift that he always saved for Fareeha if she came to visit. Genji and Reinhardt would battle for control of the music selection while Winston set up the sparkling lights that would illuminate the mess hall. They all came from such different places, and Gibraltar didn't particularly remind any of them of home that time of year, but somehow it became home instead, just because they all had each other.

Those days felt like a lifetime of memories, so it was strange to realise that they had only occurred over a couple of years. Things had quickly fallen apart not long after Lena had joined Overwatch, likely because its foundation had already been wearing away. But for a little while, when they were all relaxed and together, life had seemed almost perfect. Lena had loved the holidays.

Tracer hated them now.

It had been difficult to adjust after the first time Overwatch had disbanded, but Lena had figured out a life for herself the way she always had. She’d wandered around the world, making friends wherever she happened to land. And then every so often, she’d found someone who was a little more special, someone she could be with a little more intimately, and it made all the difference. Settling down with Emily had been the last instance of that. Tracer remembered their first Christmas with Winston after the recall. She had been the first to respond to him of course, and the only one for quite a while. It might have just been a two-person Overwatch reunion but oh, it had felt like the best to at last have family again. Without work, holidays were only about family.

Without family, holidays were about nothing at all.

Tracer was all too aware that it wasn't the first time in her life she was spending Christmas alone on the London streets. This time it was walking along a peaceful lane between houses strung up with fairy lights instead of huddling in a damp alleyway, but it still felt a bit too familiar for comfort. Of course she had somewhere she could go, a place to sleep, eat, even if it was lonely. It wasn't that bad, she knew. But her body was itching to go somewhere and it had nowhere reasonable to go. Her Overwatch family were off-limits to contact. Even Widowmaker had disappeared that morning, as loath as Tracer was to admit she'd been disappointed by that. At a better time in her life she would have been visiting someone, but she was stuck in London and there was no one left in the city.

_Except one person._

Tracer bit her lip, a tempting scenario playing out in her mind. This was definitely a bad idea on a number of levels, not least of which was an emotional one. Rule one of moving on was, well, moving on. This was most certainly the opposite.

And yet she still found her feet slowly but surely leading her towards the City for a place she wasn't even sure existed anymore. She wasn't far from her destination and couldn't help but wonder if she had been subconsciously heading there anyway. She wasn't going to reveal herself, she tried to rationalise. That was the last thing she wanted, really. But her curiosity was insatiable.

Emerging from the lane onto a small lamp-lit street, Tracer tried to stick to the shadows as she sat on the step of an unlit storefront. The occasional car passed by, pedestrians as well who hardly seemed to notice her at their feet. She pulled her knit hat further down over her head, crossing her arms firmly over her chest as a breeze blew through. It had long been cold enough to see her own breath in front of her, but it only bothered her now because she had to stay so still. Waiting was her least favourite thing.

A cab pulled up and stopped in front of the building Tracer was looking at. She craned her neck to see someone in a parka and short, dark hair climb out.

“Jackie!” a light, familiar voice called from the entrance to the building. Tracer watched as a redhead in a thick sweater ran outside and threw her arms around the woman.

Tracer watched as Emily kissed her.

Tracer clenched her jaw hard against the unexpected surge of pain thudding in her chest. Why had she come here? Why had she done this to herself? But somehow, she couldn't leave yet.

The cab was lingering and Jackie turned to pull out a box from it which she handed to Emily. A girlfriend on time with a gift. That was already a step up.

The cab drove off but the two stayed huddled outside. Tracer rose abruptly and turned to leave the way she came.

She had seen enough.

She cursed her terrible decision-making as she shoved her hands in her pockets. Hadn't she wanted this though? Hadn't she told Emily she wanted her to be happy? Hadn't she hoped Emily would move on after their break-up, and especially the funeral? It was everything had Tracer needed to see.

But she hadn't planned for how much it would hurt.

This time, it was the Thames Tracer’s legs led her to, always the thing she could rely on when there was nothing else. She walked along the riverbank, kicking stones out of her way as she went. She watched as gravel tumbled down with every step, trying to decide what to do with herself. She didn't particularly want to be back on base but there was nowhere else for her to go at this point. Her last destination had been a questionable idea to say the least. Still, as usual on days like this, a thought began nagging at her. _Call Winston. Tell him you're alive. He’ll be thrilled. What's the worst that could happen?_

Tracer stopped short and rubbed her temples. The fact was that she didn't know and also didn't want to find out. They had all kept their distances the first time Overwatch disbanded and she could do it again. Even if it wasn't easy.

She sighed and started walking again, more pebbles falling behind her.

Much farther than they should have been.

Tracer frowned and turned around. For a moment, all she saw was shadow. Then, a vague figure began to run away.

“Oi!” Tracer took off, at the last minute remembering she wasn't supposed to use her blink in public. She had always been a fast runner, fortunately -- but it didn't seem to be enough right now. She glanced around for anyone watching. As soon as the mysterious figure ran up to a building and turned a corner, she blinked up to it and paused. There was only a vague sound of shuffling. Patience may not have been her virtue, but something told her to wait for a moment. Seconds passed. A minute. Finally, a quiet voice spoke.

“Boss? Yeah, I found her. She's alone though. Mmhmm. You really think she's regressed that much when it comes to him? I see. You want me on the Eurostar tomorrow or should I take the jet? Airspace clearance will take a few hours -- risky to sneak past border security at this time of year. Right.” The conversation abruptly ended and footsteps began pacing away.

Tracer stood frozen for a moment. She almost went after the person, but stopped herself. She didn't know what was going on. What would they do if they found out Tracer had overheard what she did? She was already treading on thin ice with Talon, and this was almost certainly their doing.

But what _were_ they doing?

They'd been expecting her to be with someone. Why did they think she'd regressed? Regressed from what? And what did that have to do with the Eurostar train? Tracer didn't know anyone in France--

Her eyes widened. Yes, she very much did.

Talon wasn’t worried about her mental state -- it was _Widowmaker’s_ they were watching. But why? Tracer hadn't noticed anything amiss besides her differences of opinion with Orona which impacted missions far more than time off. What did they think she was doing now that would make them pull the trigger?

“Ugh, think.” Tracer closed her eyes. Where would Widow be? It was Christmas, but she didn't have family as far as Tracer knew so she had no reason to be anywhere special. Well, neither did Tracer, actually. She'd just felt sentimental and found herself wandering to the person who’d once felt closest to home, even if she'd never know it.

Tracer’s eyes burst open. _Him_. Widow was doing pretty much what she was -- except her person was Gérard.

The thought was entirely ridiculous for a second. Tracer had never had any inkling that Widow so much as thought of him anymore, much less had negative feelings about what had happened. But the more she thought about it, the more she decided it was the only explanation that made sense at the moment. Talon apparently felt there was evidence there. And while the idea of finding Widow felt like it might be a wild goose chase, the alternative if she didn't and Talon found her doing what they feared was… infinitely worse.

All of Tracer’s earlier troubles vanished. There was something far more important to deal with now.

Tracer fled back down the empty riverbank towards London centre, blinking as often as she could. If the Talon agent went back to base and waited for a plane, even Tracer’s head start would be negligible. She had to hurry, but first she needed to know where to go. For a moment she considered going back to base and checking Widow’s room, but Talon would have certainly thought of that first and they still didn't know where she was. Tracer slowed down once she recognised the railways of Charing Cross. It was a touristy enough area that there must be a place to buy a mobile around there.

She jumped up from the riverbank onto a main street that was emptier than usual but still busy considering the holiday. On the corner she spotted what looked like a convenience shop whose door was still open. She rushed in, lungs burning from deep, cold breaths, and went straight for the woman behind the till in front. “Hey love -- would you happen to have any of those pay as you go phones?”

“‘Course.” She turned around a moment to fetch a package. “How much you wanna top up?”

“What’s the lowest you've got?”

“Ten quid. Mobile’s forty.”

“Right, then.” Tracer dug around her jacket pocket, pulling out a couple of twenty-pound notes with a grimace. “All I got are these and a fiver. God, I really need this. Ah… don’t suppose there’s a friends and family discount?” She flashed what she hoped was a dazzling smile.

For a long moment, the cashier simply stared at her. “Bet you charm a lot of people with that face of yours.” She finally broke out a small smile and took the cash, handing Tracer the phone and top up card. “Happy Christmas.”

Tracer grinned even wider and winked. “You’re a gem, love. Happy Christmas!” She hurried out of the store.

As soon as she could, she made her way to the Underground station around the corner. It was late and Tracer knew there wouldn’t be any Eurostar trains heading to the continent until morning, but she could at least catch a train going towards the coast. If she headed north, she could get to a station for the last trip of the night. After that was the Channel Bridge. She might not be able to legally get anywhere, but she’d done her fair share of hitchhiking. Of sorts.

She finally got the mobile on and scanned the code of the top up she had purchased. Not much data, but it would have to do for the research she needed. She had still been missing when the Lacroix ordeal had occurred, not that she would have known much about it then anyway considering she had been in an entirely different division. Afterwards, it had been kept rather quiet, so she hardly knew any details.

“Search for Gérard Lacroix, Overwatch.”

The screen populated with a number of results including a couple of biographies published by Overwatch years ago. She scrolled a bit more and found an article written about the funeral.

_Rouen, France_

That was it. At least, she hoped.

The next few hours were going to feel longer than ever, she knew, but she was counting on making it in time.

She had to.

\---

It was pitch black when Tracer opened her eyes. She realised she had nodded off on the ride a flatbed lorry driver was unwittingly providing her. The train trip to Dover had gone by entirely uneventfully, but then had come the time to get herself the next mode of transportation. It had taken a few blinks from lorry to lorry to find one that would allow her to tag along without feeling like an icicle blowing off of the top at two hundred kilometres an hour -- goggles only helped so much -- but here at last she was adequately shielded by the cab, and perfectly hidden. She couldn’t help but grin to herself; she hadn’t done this in ages and it was even more exhilarating than she remembered.

The post-adrenaline nap had been rather necessary but Tracer knew she needed to stay alert. At some point, they would come across French border patrol and she would have to quickly blink past them onto another ride before she was found. The absolute last thing she needed at this point was to be taken in by the French military.

The lorry suddenly slowed and lights shone past it up ahead. It seemed she’d awakened just in time. Tracer peeked her head around to assess what she was dealing with. There were ten lanes on her side of the road, most of which were closed given the minimal traffic. Each was guarded by one or two rifle-bearing soldiers in berets. They certainly weren’t skimping on protection as holidays tended to put everyone on edge, so she would have to be extremely quick.

Hopes to escape off to one side of the road and rush ahead were quickly dashed as she saw that there wasn’t so much a shoulder as a guard rail and long, long drop into the frigid Channel beyond. She turned her attention to the vehicles ahead. There was a single viable lorry to escape to but it was fairly far and already accelerating to the other side. If she were going to go for it, she had to do it now. She had never been so grateful for her five blinks, but it was going to be close. Her ride stopped, and she jumped off.

 _Blink_.

 _Blink_.

 _Blink_.

 _Blink_.

Past the checkpoint. The lorry was moving faster now. She extended her arms, getting ready to hold on.

 _Blink_.

She grasped air. She had missed it by centimetres. Instinctively she tried to blink again but she didn’t move. She was out. Lights came from behind her. She turned to find herself face to face with a car moving far faster than she could run out of its way. She panicked.

 _Recall_.

Tracer was back just behind the flatbed, which had fortunately hardly moved -- if she could call any part of her situation fortunate at this point. She crouched in it again and tried to count down the cool down seconds in her head. Twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…

The lorry edged closer to the checkpoint.

Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen…

The lorry came to a stop.

Ten, nine, eight, seven…

Footsteps and voices.

“Parles au conducteur, je vais vérifier derrière.”

Footsteps right outside the bed.

Two, one…

Tracer blinked to the other side of the lorry and knelt down behind a set of wheels. Both soldiers were on the driver’s side. Then she watched the one in the back circle around to her side. She flattened herself and went under. She breathed heavily as she kept her eyes trained on the pair of boots.

“Et dessous?”

What Tracer would give to know so much as ten words of French right now. She’d have to go with her gut. It looked like the soldier was bending down. She rolled out to the other side and hid behind another set of wheels. The soldier on the driver’s side had just gone inside the booth.

“Ca y est. Passez, monsieur.”

Tracer glanced under. The soldier was upright once more. The other soldier stepped outside the booth. She blinked underneath again. The lorry started moving and she grabbed two support rails above her, desperately holding herself off the road.

She really, _really_ was not liking this turn of events.

“Okay, you can do this. Just drop as soon as you’re out of the lights. Drop and blink back up to the bed. Drop and blink.” The lorry accelerated and Tracer felt her hair swirl wildly around her. Her heart was racing. Not yet, not yet…

Now.

 _Drop_.

 _Blink blink_.

Tracer slammed into the back of the cabin and fell back onto the flatbed. That extra blink clearly hadn’t been necessary but she hadn't wanted a repeat of her last attempt. The expected bruises on her arms would be worth it. Finally, she breathed a sigh of relief. There should be no more interruptions until they reached Calais.

The rest of the trip only took about fifteen minutes. Before she knew it, they were on land again and heading onto a new motorway. Tracer looked ahead to glance at the signs, comparing them to the directions she had on her mobile.

“Er… oh, bollocks.” She blinked out of the lorry one last time before it could take the exit towards a place Tracer certainly did not want to go. With a sigh, she put her goggles into her coat pocket and resigned herself to some more traditional hitchhiking. As much as she hated to admit it, she had fully depleted her stores of adrenaline.

To her pleasant surprise, vehicles slowed down often enough at the sight of her outstretched thumb; perhaps the holiday spirit making everyone feel generous. It took several tries of her showing the name of the city on her mobile to find someone who nodded and unlocked the backseat of his car. Tracer eagerly went in.

“Merci!” she tried to exclaim in her best French accent, which was still certainly horrible.

The man turned to her and grinned however. “You are welcome.” His French accent was even stronger than Widowmaker’s. “London?”

“Yeah. Were you just there?”

“Yes. Visiting my husband. English. Speaks my language much better than I speak his,” he laughed.

“Oh, your English is just fine.” Tracer smiled.

“You are meeting someone? In Rouen?”

“Yeah, a… a friend.” If that was even the right word for Widow.

“Ah. I did this once, to see my husband. It was our anniversary but my car stopped working.”

“Wow, that must have been quite the trip.”

“Yes, it was. Yet you are traveling these hundreds of kilometres for… a friend?”

Tracer reddened. “Um, well… it’s just really important that I find her. I didn’t know where she went for a while, and I need to tell her something.”

“Ah, bon. A friend you need to tell important things to.” He sounded amusedly unconvinced. She couldn’t blame him; she just couldn’t exactly say Widowmaker’s well-being was in mortal danger. But then, why was the teasing bothering her?

_Because this is a ridiculous journey you wouldn’t have taken so impulsively for just anyone._

There wasn't any way to avoid that fact was there? Tracer sighed. She wasn’t even sure she’d have realised there was a way to get here if she hadn’t felt like she needed to risk herself for Widowmaker at all costs. Cheap mobile and maps and directions she got straight off the internet? Not her most suave rescue mission, but in a pinch, it was all she had. She was surprised she’d pulled it together at all, and here she was convinced this was more than worth the trouble. Widowmaker bringing out the knight in shining armour within her.

Tracer leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “I guess she is a little special.”

“It is good to have friends who are special.”

A woman who she’d thought despised her but had instead saved her time and time again even though she kept pretending she was heartless. As if. This time, Tracer smiled a little, fatigue already fogging her brain. “Yeah, it is.”

It was the last coherent thought she had before she once again nodded off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I wrote Jack Morrison as cook before Grillmaster 76 came out so my characterization skills are *clearly* spot-on.


	14. Home for Christmas Pt.2

When Tracer woke up, her first thought was that this night was never going to end.

Her friendly driver had stopped in front of a cafe that was still open for some reason. She realised she’d left a couple hours after sundown and her journey had only taken about three hours more. It must have been around midnight accounting for the time difference, which was for the best considering she probably needed to find Widow by sunrise. The passenger -- no -- driver’s side door opened and her new friend reached back to hand her a warm paper cup.

“Coffee. I think you will need it.”

“Do I ever.” Tracer hadn’t even noticed how cold she was given that she’d been through far worse, but the heat of the coffee through the cup made her feel like she was thawing. Taking a sip was heaven. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome.” A couple of minutes lapsed in silence, Tracer downing the coffee. “This is the centre city. Would you like to stop here, or is there another place?”

“No, here’s fine. Still not sure where I’m going yet exactly.” Tracer considered asking him where she could find a graveyard or two but that would probably bring up some unwanted questions. She wanted to part on a positive note. “Thank you so much, you’ve really saved me.”

The man smiled as he took Tracer’s empty cup. “My pleasure.” Tracer climbed out of the car. “I hope you find your friend soon. And I hope she sees how much luck she has to have you.” He drove away with a wave before Tracer could think of anything to reply.

It was time to get down to business. She decided to head for the closest cemetery, even though the picture in the news article had seemed to be in a more rural setting. When she got there, it looked entirely unfamiliar, and there were so many gravestones that it almost seemed worthless to check them all. She went on to the next place and hoped her instincts were right.

Even though Rouen was tiny compared to London, its little suburbs greatly increased the terrain Tracer needed to cover. She had severely underestimated how long this would take, and four hours in, she still had a couple more places to visit. She'd never craved a vehicle more.

The second to last cemetery was in an unlit area on the edge of a little village, but at the entrance was a portable lantern and the half-moon had come out to help illuminate the grounds. Tracer took the lantern and began walking down a row of gravestones.

Every hour that passed was making her feel more and more anxious. What if she didn't have time to find Widow before Talon did? What if Widow left before anyone could find her, or she'd never even been here in the first place? Tracer would be stuck in France probably needing to wait until the next night to pull all her nonsense again and get back -- with no money for food or lodging in the meantime. Wow, she really had not thought this through. She could almost hear Morrison’s voice in her head chastising her about needing to slow down and think about her actions…

But then, her attentions were drawn back to the present. In the grey distance, she spotted a dash of red. Quickly walking over, heart pounding in anticipation, she saw that it was a rose left on a gravestone. She held her breath and looked down at the name.

_Gérard Lacroix_

Tracer could have cheered out loud. She could scarcely believe she'd successfully gotten this far on little more than vague intel and a hunch. Widow had indeed been here.

The question was, where was she now?

\---

Widowmaker sat at the bar working on her umpteenth glass of Bordeaux. Nothing made her drunk these days, but the familiar taste of the wine was comforting nonetheless, warming the pit of her stomach despite the chill in the air. The cold hadn't bothered her in a long time, but it seemed this was the year of anomalies. The bar was mostly empty except for a few other people who clearly also saw Christmas as a holiday to drink over. Usually, she would opt for a busy place to seem more anonymous, but right now she appreciated the relative quiet. Going back to her place in Annecy had felt a bit too isolated this time, hence why she was still in this little village, sitting in one of its only bars.

Every year she had the same routine, or at least a variant: go home for Christmas, visit Gérard’s grave, return to Talon with no one the wiser. For someone whose emotions had been violently wrung out of her, she had always felt a lingering need for this. She wasn't sure if it was an apology or closure or what, but it had to be done. Every year it became more urgent and every year she indulged it for a little longer. 

But she wondered how long it would last. One of these days, Talon was going to recondition her again, and there was no telling whether she'd be repressed or truly wiped this time. She didn't particularly want to find out, but there was no avoiding it. It was the job.

Widowmaker took another sip of wine and slowly put down the glass. She frowned, trying to attune her ears to what was going on around her. The entire night had passed without trouble, but she suddenly had an odd feeling -- particularly that she was being watched.

Slowly, she turned her head to scan the room. Everyone there looked like they belonged, as far as she could tell. But she never ignored her instincts, and her instincts told her to leave.

Widowmaker downed the last of her wine and left a couple of bills underneath the empty glass. She decided a stealthy exit would be best so she headed to the back, fortunately spotting a door. She opened it, walked out into the empty alley, and prepared her grappling hook.

“Widow!”

Widowmaker spun around to the source of the harsh whisper.

Tracer.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. “What the hell are you doing here? Don't you have anything better to do than watch my every move?” She was obviously furious, along with the hint of insecurity there. But Tracer knew there was no time to deal with that.

“I'm not the one watching you who you should be worried about. Talon thinks you're slipping. If they find you here, they're going to know what that means, just like I did.”

“What makes you think they care at all where I am?”

“I overheard an operative looking for you. They’re planning to fly here.”

Now there was fear on Widowmaker’s face. Her eyes flicked around as though trying to find an escape route. “I -- they have never done this before. I always thought I was careful.”

Tracer had never seen her look so distraught. She spoke gently. “Don't worry, love, we'll get out of this soon enough, I promise.”

“How -- how did you even get here? Are you sure they didn't track you?”

“Pretty sure. I, er, kind of hitchhiked over here considering my only legal identity is a dead, criminal one,” Tracer admitted.

“What? How did you pass the checkpoint?”

“My first ride might not have realised I was a passenger.” She shrugged sheepishly. Widow rolled her eyes. “Suffice it to say that it's not going to work as our way back.”

“Clearly. I took a ferry then a taxi here and we can easily take that back given the time. What matters is getting far away from here as soon as possible.”

“Right.”

Widowmaker started walking in the general direction of the main city. “How did you find this place? You couldn't possibly have had Talon’s intel.”

“No, I wish. Just did some good old-fashioned internet searching and a lot more physical searching. I've been wandering around a few hours.” Widow seemed surprised but didn't reply. “Talon had to wait for airspace clearance to get through the border which gave me time.”

“But we are still running out.” In the darkness, Widowmaker went ahead and used her grappling hook to cover more ground faster, Tracer following with her blinks. Once well inside the city, Widow led them to a train station where a couple of taxis were already waiting. She slid into one. “Dieppe, s'il vous plaît.” Tracer went in herself and shut the door behind them.

The trip wasn't long especially compared to coming from Calais, not that Tracer would realise it considering she fell asleep almost the moment they'd started moving. Widowmaker even found herself close to nodding off when she felt warm weight suddenly fall onto her shoulder. She looked down to find Tracer’s head against her, the rest of the girl’s torso following as it slumped over little by little.

Widow tensed, finding herself unexpectedly distracted by the body beside her. It shouldn't have caused her to think twice, but as a rule, Widowmaker never made intentional contact with anyone. She dealt with targets at a distance and kept everyone else around her nearly as far. She wasn't sure the last time she had felt anyone's body heat pressed against her while not in the whirlwind of a mission. It was even harder to ignore here as Tracer felt hotter than most; it was as though the side of Widowmaker’s body were being lit on fire. Technically, she could easily shove the girl off of her.

The girl who had so ridiculously come all the way over here to warn her.

Something twisted a bit in her chest. She had fully expected to be alone this entire holiday -- she had been every year for this ritual -- and so having Tracer with her now felt odd… but it was difficult to define how. In any event, it couldn’t be unwelcome given that her presence was a favour, even a gift, that she had by no means been obligated to give. Widowmaker still couldn't fathom what had compelled her to do this much less knew how to repay such a thing, but at the moment, she supposed the least she could do in return was let the girl rest.

And so they remained until they reached the coast. Widowmaker only nudged her awake once the taxi stopped in front of their destination.

“Time to go, chérie.” She handed the driver a wad of cash and stepped out with a deep breath, trying to ignore just how cold she felt now. Tracer rubbed her eyes wearily but followed right on her heels.

Shaking off any lingering discomfort, Widowmaker focused on surveying their surroundings. Sunlight was finally peeking above the horizon off to the east and up ahead was a moderately sized ferry with a small security line in the front. “Can you get past that?”

“Way more easily than the last one, that's for sure. See you on the other side, love.”

Sure enough, the security barriers were simple to get through and the lack of personnel made evading curious eyes effortless. Tracer paused in a hallway for a second, then went back towards the security line, waiting for Widow to make it through.

“Transportation must be very inexpensive for you,” Widowmaker commented as they met up.

“Eh, it has its drawbacks.”

The two walked along the outer deck of the ship until they reached the engine area in the back. It was a bit loud, but that meant it was empty and thus conveniently private.

As the ferry unmoored and began distancing itself from the coast, Tracer told Widowmaker close to the whole story from the moment she realised what Talon was doing. Despite the ramble, Widowmaker was listening with rapt attention for once, eyes widening when she mentioned her checkpoint scare.

“How you have survived in your life thus far is astonishing.”

“Guess I'm just lucky.”

“You are certainly something.” It didn't sound quite complimentary but few things did with Widowmaker.

“Once I got off that lorry a Frenchman picked me up and took me to Rouen. Wish the whole trip had been that easy.” Her train of thought derailed for a moment as she recalled the pointed comments her driver had made. But she tried to shove them aside, forging on. “Glad I found you ‘cause I'd have had a hell of a time coming back on my own.”

“Any other year I would have been gone by the time you walked into that bar. Maybe you are lucky.”

A thought popped into Tracer’s mind. “Where are you going to tell them you were? Think you covered your tracks well enough since they couldn't pin down your location at all. They thought you were with me at first.”

Widow looked surprised. “Why would I be with you?”

Tracer grimaced. “I'll try not to take that personally.”

“No, I…” Widowmaker almost stumbled over her words for some reason. “I am sure you had better things to do.” But then something seemed to occur to her. “If they thought I was with you, then you were out as well.”

Tracer froze for a moment, but decided at this rate she might as well bare her own secret. “I went to see Emily.”

“ _Quoi_?”

“Keyword being ‘see’ since she didn't actually know I was there,” Tracer explained quickly. “Guess I just wanted to visit an old part of my life without anyone knowing.”

Widowmaker sighed. “Us sentimental fools.”

“Yeah.” It occurred to Tracer she herself had been fortunate she'd only been followed after that initial adventure.

Suddenly, Widowmaker inhaled sharply. “Idiote.”

“What? What is it? What did I do?” Widow’s face looked a bit panicked and Tracer glanced around in case she'd seen something.

“No, it's me. I -- I left a rose on Gérard’s grave. They are going to find it. All of this was for nothing.” She dropped her head in her hands.

“Oh, right. About that.” Tracer reached into her jacket and pulled out a now slightly squished red rose. “I didn’t want to be disrespectful, but I figured it wasn't the best idea to leave it there.”

Widowmaker took the flower from Tracer’s outstretched hand and stared at it with no reaction for a moment. “I suppose you are not so thoughtless after all.”

Tracer could see the relief for what it was. Widow’s shoulders had visibly relaxed. “Always the finest praise from you.”

The corner of Widowmaker’s lips quirked upwards. But then she sobered again. “Now you know my secret. Being stupidly emotional despite my reputation.” She frowned. “I should just make Talon recondition me again.”

“Don't you dare say that.” Tracer’s voice was fierce. “There's nothing wrong with wanting to honour a memory.”

Widow’s brow furrowed, unusually emotive. “Sometimes I have had to ask myself, what if I don't regret it? What if I am just going through the motions?”

“If you have to ask the question, you probably do somewhere in there. Even if you can't find the emotion yet, you will, you just have to dig a little.” Tracer tried to sound encouraging.

Widowmaker’s lips tightened and her voice was barely there. “But it hurts.”

Tracer had never heard Widow sound like this. And for her to say something like that… Tracer put a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes, things just have to hurt, love, before you can move on and find better things.”

Widow looked over at Tracer, eyes tired and far less guarded than they usually were. “What better things?” The honesty in her tone was a novelty. For once, it looked like she wanted a real answer.

“Life goals. Pretty sunrises. People.”

“I don't have people.”

“You've got me, love.”

Widowmaker was quiet a moment, gaze contemplative. “You came all the way over here just to warn me. You did not have to do that.”

“It's the least I can do for the number of times you've bailed me out. That's what partners do, yeah?”

Widowmaker seemed to almost smile at hearing the echo of her own words. But she then shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Alright, fine. Even if you hadn’t, I just did this because I wanted to. Because… because I care, y’know?”

Widow’s eyes remained steadily on hers, the intensity now intimidating. Tracer wasn't sure how Widow would react to an admission like that, but for some reason she felt like she needed to find out. Of course, at this rate it was obvious wasn't it? Really, Tracer was a normal human being with normal emotions -- it wasn't as though this had to be seen as extraordinary.

Finally, Widowmaker sighed. “Silly girl.” But the tone felt warmer than it usually did. Widow looked back towards the water, leaning her forearms against the railing and holding the rose in her hands. “I do not know yet what I will tell them. I am not sure them thinking we were together would be much help.”

“What? Why?”

_They might catch onto us doing such stupid things for each other._

Widowmaker found that she couldn’t bring herself to say this out loud. It occurred to her that spending a holiday around any other agent would have been meaningless to Talon. Maybe they would in fact find Tracer meaningless as well -- but she clearly didn’t. That was the most worrisome part wasn’t it? That she was paranoid Talon thought Tracer was a problem for her just because she herself was afraid it might already be true.

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the thoughts. They were too much right now when she was still dealing with the problem that had already lingered for years. She opened her eyes to the rose in her hands, running her fingers across a couple of its spines. “Alone is for the best.”

Tracer didn’t respond this time, and Widowmaker exhaled slowly with some mix of relief and disappointment. She loosened her fingers and gently let the rose drop into the water, watching it slowly float away until it receded into the distance.

“Pour Gérard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pour Gérard/For Gérard


End file.
